Critical Displacement
by psyscaper
Summary: SPOILER ALERT: Follows the episode Fault Lines. If you haven't seen it and don't want to know what happens, DO NOT READ this until you see Fault Lines. This is a team fic focusing mostly on Spike. Rated T for a little smut toward the end of Chptr 9.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing, or at least next to nothing. I certainly don't own Flashpoint or any of its characters. If I did, Spike would have a real girlfriend. I'm only taking them out to play for a while and promise to return them in good working order. No copyright infringement is intended and I'm sure not making any money from this, so please don't sue me. (See the first sentence of this disclaimer.)

**Author's Note:** This is just my third fanfiction and my first foray into Flashpoint, so please let me know if I missed anything with characterization, plot, history, etc. All constructive criticism is welcomed. Any flames will likely be ignored so don't waste your time or mine. I've only been to Toronto a few times and not recently, so some details may be off. I do my best to research locations and other details, but I'm only human. Thanks for reading and be sure to let me know what you think.

* * *

Sergeant Greg Parker looked up at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. It had been nearly four hours since he'd received the call from 52 Division, more than three hours since he'd arrived in the emergency room. His second in command and his team's tactical leader had been shot in cold blood in an apparent road rage incident. Of all the possible ways he'd imagined his friend going down, this one hadn't even occurred to him. And, to top it all, the man's wife and son were three floors up in the maternity ward. Ed Lane had been on his way to meet them when he'd been shot.

Greg glanced around the waiting room taking in the harried features of the rest of the team gathered there. His team – Strategic Response Unit Team One – or, at least most of it. Two members were currently absent. One was in the OR and the other hadn't responded to their repeated calls. He couldn't really blame his MIA officer, though.

It had been a hell of a day. He'd arrived at headquarters only to be informed that the outside psychologist chosen to perform his team's psych evaluations was none other than Dr. Larry Toth, a military psychologist with a reputation as a team buster. It had never been his intention to break up the team. They were the best the SRU had to offer; why would he want to split them up? He simply hadn't trusted himself to be objective with his team. They'd been through so much the past two years, he'd grown closer to each of them than he'd ever intended. They'd become more of a family than a SWAT team. And, while they still functioned as a well-oiled machine, it was obvious to anyone with a critical eye that cracks were beginning to form. Still when all was said and done, here they were standing around the ER waiting room, supporting each other as they awaited news of their fallen team leader.

He glanced up at the clock yet again, then around the room once more. Time had seemingly stopped. Officers Jules Callaghan and Sam Braddock were sitting in the corner talking softly. Officer Kevin "Wordy" Wordsworth was standing by the door, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Greg watched the man sigh and shake his head as he closed his phone.

Wordy walked over to Jules and Sam.

"Have either of you tried to call Spike?" he asked, clearly apprehensive. "I've tried at least four times and he's not answering."

Jules nodded, "Yeah, I've tried a few times myself and he didn't pick up for me, either."

"I'm pretty sure the boss has tried, too," offered Sam.

Wordy shook his head again. "I can see why he doesn't want to talk to me, after what I did to him on the obstacle course," he said.

"What? Are you saying you intentionally broke the slat and made him cut his hand?" Jules asked incredulously.

"Of course I didn't do it on purpose!" Wordy fairly growled. "It's just I know he blames me for it and I did take too long to help him over."

It was Jules' turn to shake her head. "No, there's got to be something else going on," she said. "Spike's not that petty. He might have taken it personally at the time, but I'm sure he knows it wasn't your fault. Besides, why would he ignore my calls or the boss's?"

"I don't know," said Sam. "If his psych eval was anything like mine, it could've messed with his head." He shot a look at the other two and shook his head. "I'm telling you, the military inquiry following my friendly-fire shooting wasn't half as nerve-wracking as my psych eval today," he continued. "It's like Toth was looking for anything he could use to break me down."

"And, he found something, too," added Jules as she and Sam shared another look.

Wordy knew exactly what they were talking about. It had become common knowledge on the team that Sam and Jules had been seeing each other against department rules, though they'd broken it off after Jules had been shot by a sniper nearly two years ago. While the two clearly still had feelings for each other, they remained professional on the job and worked well together. Wordy didn't see it as a problem and he knew the others on the team didn't either.

"You'd think Spike would answer his phone in case it was about the requalification, though," Wordy steered the conversation back to their missing colleague. "I don't know about you, but I didn't want him to find out Ed was shot by voice mail."

"Me neither," Jules agreed, "I just told him to call one of us as soon as he gets the message."

"What about you, Sam?" Wordy looked at the blond.

"I haven't tried calling him yet," he shrugged. "I figured you guys would be pestering him enough and maybe he just doesn't want to talk right now."

"Okay," Jules gave a wry smile, "but, it's been over three hours and at least seven calls and messages. He should've called back by now."

"Maybe he'll talk to you, Sam," suggested Wordy. "You're probably the least talkative after Ed. He knows he wouldn't be pressed to say much if you called."

Sam pulled out his phone. "How about I just text him? Then he won't have to talk at all," he compromised.

* * *

Michelangelo Scarlatti stood just inside the kitchen door only half listening to his mother as she chased after her husband. He could hear his father coughing and some part of his brain registered the fact that it was getting worse. However, the only thing he was consciously aware of at the moment was the tightening in his chest. It had started when he had pulled into the driveway and it had just gotten worse as he had stepped into the kitchen only to watch silently as his father got up from the table and left the room without so much as looking at him. Now, it felt as though a band was wrapped around his chest, an unseen hand pulling it tighter and tighter until he was struggling to breathe.

He looked down at the salad his mother had started for him when he'd come in. He knew he should eat something since he hadn't had anything but water since breakfast. Given the difficulty he was having breathing, though, he wasn't sure he could get any food down anyway.

How long he stood rooted to that spot he wasn't sure. He was torn between moving farther into the house or just turning around and heading back outside. If he stayed, he'd end up in his bedroom for the rest of the evening. The alternative would be this ritual that had become his home life. He would walk into a room and his father would get up and leave without a word, without even looking at him if possible. And, the band around his chest would tighten that much more.

But, if he left, where would he go? He couldn't go back to HQ. After what had gone down during the annual requalification, not to mention the psych eval, it was bound to be nearly as oppressive as home. In his mind, he kept going back to the psych eval. Dr. Toth had been almost heartless in his interrogation, what with the psychologist's fixation on the incident that had taken Spike's best friend and partner. Toth had gotten him so flustered he'd inadvertently let it slip that his father was sick, that he was dying. Why had he said that? The last thing Spike wanted was for the others to feel sorry for him. His job and the team were his refuge from the misery he now endured on a daily basis at home.

Taking a long look around the kitchen to the table with the half-eaten meal abandoned there, he finally made up his mind. Turning around, he opened the door and left the house. He got into his car and sat there staring out the window, not the least bit sure of where to go. Before Lew died, Spike would often end up at his friend's place. Sometimes they'd go out for a pizza and beer, other times they'd simply hang out. Just being around Lew had had a calming effect on the Italian and he realized just how much he still missed his best friend.

Spike started the car and backed out of the driveway. He'd figure out where to go once he got on the road.

* * *

After ensuring her husband had taken his medication and that he was comfortable and breathing fine, Mrs. Scarlatti went back to the kitchen to check on her son, only to find him gone, the salad on the counter untouched. She looked in his bedroom, finding it empty as well. She had not heard him leave, but she had seen the look on his face when he'd arrived home. The growing rift between father and son was wearing on all of them, but she was determined to support them both. It was difficult at times 'being Switzerland' as her son would say. Mike's decision to become a police officer instead of following his older siblings into the family business had resulted in recrimination and hurt feelings on both sides. Dominic Scarlatti sometimes accused their son of caring more for strangers than his own family. She saw the worry in her husband's eyes whenever he thought of his youngest child risking his life day after day for complete strangers. Every time the phone or doorbell rang, her heart would stop for a second and she knew her husband felt it, too. Would it be an officer telling them their Michelangelo was dead?

As she started cleaning up after the now forgotten evening meal, she thought back to happier times. She remembered a trip the family had taken to Europe. They had visited both her and Dominic's relatives. Mike had been about eleven and he had been so excited to meet his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. He spent hours each day exploring the Italian countryside and delighted in telling everyone at dinner what he'd discovered.

Mrs. Scarlatti sighed as she realized the day they had lost their son to his eventual career in law enforcement was probably the day he had stumbled across an undetonated bomb leftover from World War I. She, of course, had been mortified when she'd learned about the discovery. But, her little Mikey had been fascinated and he had set out to learn everything he could about chemistry and the history of explosives. He had a razor sharp mind and a photographic memory and when his curiosity was piqued, there was no stopping him.

Add to that enthusiasm the fact that they had raised all their children to respect others as well as the law and to help others, they really shouldn't have been surprised when Mike announced his intention to apply to the Toronto Police College. By that time he had already earned undergraduate degrees in Chemistry and Computer Security and had even taken a few criminal justice courses along the way. Mike had always been a bit of a thrill seeker and that hadn't changed. She knew the thought of working with his siblings in his father's company would have seemed dull and boring to him compared to police work. No, it shouldn't have surprised them one bit.

* * *

Spike drove around, not really paying attention to where he was going. He wasn't sure how long he'd been driving when he pulled up in front of a pair of familiar wrought-iron gates. He drove slowly down the narrow road stopping near an oak tree that stood watch near his friend's grave. He got out of the car, grabbing the six-pack he'd stopped for and walked over to the headstone.

"Hey, buddy," he spoke softly though no one else was nearby. He looked around listening to the quiet rustling of the leaves in the light wind. He could almost feel his friend's presence.

"Your folks sure picked the right spot for ya, Lew," he said, returning his gaze back to the grave marker. "It's so quiet and peaceful here, just like you." He flashed a sad half-smile and sat cross-legged, pulling out a beer and opening it.

"Hope you don't mind, but I thought we could hang out," he said before taking a swig. He proceeded to tell his friend about his day. He talked about Toth and how he'd admitted to still feeling guilty about being unable to save his best friend. When he got to the part about the obstacle course, he started scratching absent-mindedly at the bandaged cut on his left hand. The guilt he felt about how he'd treated Wordy mixed with the guilt he still carried about Lew and his breath hitched a little. He lifted the bottle to his lips only to find it empty. He started to reach for another one, but something stopped him. He looked around again.

The sun now cast long shadows over the cemetery and the wind had picked up, causing him to shiver slightly. He hadn't brought a jacket and he could almost hear Lew's voice in his ear telling him that a six-pack of beer on an empty stomach probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever come up with. He gave a sad chuckle.

"Yeah, you're right, buddy," he whispered. "Well, I guess I should get going. Thanks for listening, Lew," he said as he got up and started walking back to his car. He put the beer in the trunk, no point in tempting fate, before getting back in behind the wheel. He heard a faint buzzing noise and looked down at his cell phone sitting in the cup holder. He picked it up and looked at it.

"Wow, ten missed calls," he spoke as he scrolled through the list of calls. Jules, Wordy and the Sarge had all called. He also had several new voice mail messages waiting as well as the text message that had just come through. His thoughts instantly went back to the requalification and his psych eval. "_I'm not really sure I want to know how it turned out,_" he thought to himself.

He checked the text first. It was from Sam. "911 - Spike, U OK? Call me when U get this. Sam," it read.

He hit reply and typed his response, "Whats Up?" and hit send. Then he checked his voice mail. The first few were from Wordy and Jules, both of them asking him to call them back. Then he listened to one from the boss.

"_Spike, listen, I'm sorry about the way today went, but there's been an incident. Listen, just please call me when you get this message, okay? Thanks, buddy_."

He disconnected just as another call came through. He looked at the caller ID; it was Sam. With a sigh, Spike hit the answer button and put the phone to his ear.

"_Spike?"_

"Yeah," Spike said.

"_Hey, buddy. You okay?"_

Spike considered the question, but didn't reply because, honestly, no, he was far from okay.

"_Spike?"_ Sam tried again after a moment or two of silence.

"What?"

"_You need to get to Toronto General."_

Spike closed his eyes, certain he didn't want to hear the rest of whatever Sam had to say.

"Why?" he asked.

Sam hesitated. _"Ed's been shot,"_ he said.

Once again, Spike found himself struggling to breathe. Would this day from Hell never end?

"_Spike?"_ he asked again after another moment of silence on the other end.

"Thanks," Spike managed to croak before ending the call. He sat there looking out over the darkening cemetery and worked to control his breathing. As soon as he felt he wasn't going to hyperventilate, he started the car and drove slowly down the winding cemetery road to the exit. As he turned onto the main road he started calculating the best way to get to the downtown hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own much of anything, especially not Flashpoint or it's characters and I still promise to return them in good working order when I'm done.

**Author's Note**: I'd like to thank you all for reading. Special thanks go to all who have reviewed. I'll try to respond individually to reviews, but in case I miss anyone – thank you! I probably should have mentioned in the first chapter's note that I did not actually come up with Spike's back-story, at least not the part about the family trip and the discovery of the WW I explosive. That came from a Spike Q&A I found on a Facebook page.

* * *

"Well, there's definitely something going on with Spike," Sam said as he hung up his phone and looked at the others.

"Yeah?" asked Jules, "What makes you say that?"

"Monotone, one-syllable responses, long pauses," he replied. "I don't know, he just didn't sound like himself."

"Did he say he's coming here?" Wordy asked.

Sam shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "No, he just said 'Thanks' and hung up."

A little over thirty minutes later Spike arrived in the emergency room of Toronto General Hospital. Walking slowly, he looked around for the other members of his team. He found them in the waiting area, still holding out for word on their teammate; their drawn faces no doubt matched his own. They all looked tired and worn out. Spike walked up to his sergeant, the only one still in uniform, who stood leaning against the far wall.

"Boss? What happened?" he asked. "How's Ed? Is he going to be okay?"

Greg Parker gave the younger man a slight smile and gently squeezed his arm. "Hey, Spike, thanks for coming, buddy." He explained how he had gotten the call about the shooting and how Team 2 had mobilized to search for the shooter who had fled the scene.

"As for how he's doing…" Parker glanced toward the OR doors before looking back at the other officer. "He's been in surgery for over four hours now. We don't know yet," he said.

"Sophie," Spike began, but Parker put his hands up and cut him off.

"She just knows that there was an incident and that he was on scene," Parker told him. "She's got enough to worry about with the baby coming. I didn't want to add to her stress, at least, not until I have to."

Spike nodded his understanding. "Does Clark know?" he asked, thinking of Ed's teenage son.

"I told him the same thing I told Sophie," Parker said. "He's already stressed out about his mom and his baby sister.

"What about you, Spike?" he asked, taking a good look at the young man, for the first time noticing the circles that were starting to darken around his eyes. "How're you doing?"

The revelation today about his technical and explosives expert's home situation had shocked him. He had only recently learned of the young man's estrangement from his father, a difficult situation made worse by the fact that they lived in the same house. Prior to that, though, he never would have guessed that Spike was dealing with that kind of stress. The Italian never showed it at work. In fact, he was usually smiling, cracking jokes and focused on raising everyone else's spirits.

Spike shrugged and looked around the room, hoping to deflect the attention away from himself.

"I'm good," he said with a forced half-smile that came nowhere near to reaching his brown doe-like eyes. He started scratching distractedly at his bandaged hand again, a motion that did not escape his boss' penetrating gaze.

"How's your hand?" asked the sergeant, glancing down at the bandage. A spot of blood stood out now against the white gauze covering the palm, an indication that the wound had reopened. Parker already knew what had happened. Scarlatti had had to file a report for the work-related injury and he had signed off on it.

The young man immediately folded his arms across his chest, jamming the offending hand into his armpit. "It's fine," he quickly replied. He stared defiantly at his boss as he tried to come up with an excuse to walk away.

"You know, Wordy feels pretty badly about that," Parker informed him, not really surprised by the flash of guilt that passed through the other man's eyes for a split-second before fading away. What did surprise him was the dullness behind it that took up residence in those same eyes.

Parker could have kicked himself. All this time and he'd had no idea what this man had been going through. What kind of supervisory officer was he? _So much for being able to read people_, he thought. Here, seemingly, the easiest to read member of the team was hiding all this stress and he hadn't had a clue.

Spike shifted from one foot to the other, turning slightly to his left to look across the room at the object of his latest guilt fest. Wordy sat facing them next to Jules at the far end of the room. His long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back in the chair and Spike couldn't tell if he was dozing or staring at some speck in the ceiling.

"It wasn't his fault, boss," he spoke softly. "I shouldn't have gotten angry."

A loud warning bell went off in Parker's mind as he registered the lack of inflection in the tone of voice. That, coupled with the dullness in the eyes and the distracted scratching, signaled a possible bout of depression, always a concern for any cop and an even bigger concern for the elite SRU officers. They saw more of the dark underbelly of the human condition than most and it had a habit of wearing you down. The day's events certainly hadn't helped matters, either. The young man was by far the most sensitive member of the team and he sometimes struggled to remain detached in the midst of a traumatic situation. Add in what he'd learned about Scarlatti's home life and Parker knew they'd have to keep a close eye on the young man to try and keep him on an even keel.

"Why don't you go tell him that," he suggested, "I'm sure it would make him feel better to know you don't blame him." He watched carefully as the younger man nodded and started to make his way slowly across the room. He made it only a few steps before a doctor walked through the OR doors and into the waiting area. Noticing the uniformed officer, the doctor walked toward him.

"Are you here for Edward Lane?" he asked as he glanced down at the clipboard in his hands.

Parker stepped forward as the others came over to hear the news. "Sergeant Parker, SRU," he introduced himself as he tried not to focus on the dried blood that covered the doctor's scrubs. "How is he, doc?"

The doctor hesitated before answering. "It was touch and go for a while, but he made it through surgery. He lost a great deal of blood and a transfusion was necessary. The bullet nicked the pulmonary artery. That's why the surgery took so long. We had to repair the artery and replace the lost blood."

The doctor paused to look at the group before adding, "The next 24 to 48 hours will be critical."

A stunned silence fell over them as the information sank in. Parker found his voice after a moment. "When can we see him?" he asked.

"He'll be in Recovery for the next few hours," replied the doctor, "after which he'll be taken up to the Coronary Intensive Care Unit. Only family members are allowed to visit."

Parker pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing. "His wife is upstairs in labor right now," he informed the surgeon. "His fifteen-year-old son is with her."

"Is his wife aware of what's happened?" asked the doctor.

Greg shook his head. "She's had a difficult pregnancy, doctor," he explained. "She's been on bed rest and apparently there were complications with the delivery. I haven't told her about Ed yet." He was not looking forward to telling Sophie, but he knew he had no choice.

"Well, someone needs to tell them," the surgeon directed a pointed look at the officer who nodded. After stating that someone would let them know when their friend was ready to go to the CICU, the doctor turned and left.

Greg turned to the others. "Jules, would you mind going up to Sophie's room with me? I'll tell her what's happened, but she may appreciate having you there as well," he winced knowing the difficult position he was putting the young woman in.

Jules just steeled herself and nodded, "You got it, boss. Whatever you need."

Greg smiled, reaching out and squeezing her arm. "Thanks." He turned to the others.

"There's really nothing any of you can do right now. It's been a tough day…"

"That's an understatement," muttered Sam, not quite under his breath. Parker shot him a look.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed before continuing. "If you guys want to go home…" he let the offer hang out there as he looked at each of them in turn.

Wordy was the first to respond, shaking his head adamantly, "I'm staying, boss. I can have Shelley drop the girls off with her folks and come down here for a while, too. I know she'll want to see Sophie anyway."

Sam glanced Jules' way and quickly looked back to his sergeant, saying he'd stick around for a while as well.

They all turned to look at Spike who hadn't said a word. He stood a few feet away, close enough to hear everything the doctor had said, but not quite with the rest of the group. He was looking out at the emergency room, but he seemed miles away. Jules' eyebrows shot up, as did Sam's as they and Wordy shared worried looks with Greg.

Parker called to the young man, "Spike!" He waited a beat before stepping over to him and touching his arm. "Spike?" He was relieved when Spike turned to look at him, though the blank look on the face that gazed back at him was troubling. It almost seemed as if Spike didn't even know where he was.

Spike looked at the others for a moment before he seemed to regain his bearings. He shook his head as if to clear it and said, "I'll stay."

He walked to the other side of the waiting area, sitting down at the end of the row of chairs facing the ER.

Parker took Wordy by the arm and leaned in to speak to him. "Try to get him talking," he said softly, lifting his gaze to look the other man in the eyes and seeing his own concern for Spike's well-being mirrored there. "Don't push him to the point that he shuts down completely, but try to get him talking," he reiterated.

Wordy. It was clear the Italian was on the edge. Parker was torn between telling them what he knew about Spike's father and respecting the young man's privacy. He decided not to tell them for now, but he would if it became necessary.

Parker and Jules left to see Ed's wife and son while Wordy and Sam walked over to their friend, choosing to sit against the wall facing him, where they'd been before the doctor had come in.

Spike nodded to them, but said nothing and turned to stare at the frenetic activity of the downtown hospital's emergency room. The others shared a worried look, neither of them sure what to say to get their friend out of his current headspace.

Unable to process the information about Ed right now, Spike instead kept going over the obstacle course run in his head. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had overreacted and the worse he felt about it. He thought about Wordy's comments as they had knelt in the grass afterward. Wordy had told Spike that he had nothing to worry about, that everyone wanted him and he could pack up and leave whenever he wanted. At the time, Spike had been a bit offended by his teammate's cavalier attitude. But, the man obviously was just worried about keeping his own place on the team, though Spike wasn't sure why. Spike had still been reeling from his time with Dr. Toth and he had let his frustration get the better of him and he had lashed out without cause. He knew he had to make it right with Wordy; he just wasn't sure if he could, or if he even had the energy to try. He felt completely drained, mentally, physically and emotionally.

For his part, Wordy was dealing with his own measure of guilt. Spike had been right; he had waited a good long time before reaching over the climb to help his friend. It had cost them both valuable seconds on the clock and it was unclear what effect his hesitation would have on how things turned out. Maybe an apology would help break the ice and get the other man talking. He leaned across the aisle and lightly tapped Spike on the arm.

"Listen, Spike," he said quietly, "I just want you to know, I really am sorry about this afternoon."

Scarlatti didn't turn to face him, but he did mumble his own apology. Not that anyone could have heard it.

"What was that, Spike?" Wordy leaned in closer. The other man just shook his head. Wordy left his seat and crouched down next to him. "Spike?"

"Wasn't your fault," Spike shook his head again. "Sorry for biting your head off."

Wordy gave him a half smile. "Hey, don't worry about it. It's not like I didn't do the same thing to you, right?" He moved so he could look his friend in the eye. "What do you say we just blame it on Toth and move on, huh, buddy?"

Spike nodded and hazarded a quick glance at his friend before returning his gaze straight ahead.

Wordy looked down as he moved to sit beside the other man and noticed that his friend was absentmindedly digging at his bandaged palm. The gauze was now almost completely red. He placed one hand on Spike's right wrist and the other on his shoulder.

"Spike," he said softly, putting more pressure on his friend's wrist. "Stop it, Spike," he spoke with increased urgency. "You're gonna make it worse."

He looked over at Sam who was watching with concern. Sam looked like he was about to intervene himself when a young, dark-haired woman in scrubs passed by with an EMT. She looked at the three men and stopped when she noticed Spike. She, too, saw the burgeoning wound on his hand and spoke to the EMT she was with.

"Jamie, would you get me a first-aid kit, please?" she asked before stepping closer to stand in front of Spike. She looked back and forth between Wordy and Sam before turning her gaze back to the man seated between them.

"Mike?" she spoke haltingly, unsure of how to proceed. "Is everything all right?"

Spike continued to stare straight ahead, as if looking right through her. She knelt down in front of him.

"You know him?" asked Sam.

She glanced at the other two men with a slight smile. "We went to high school together, but we hadn't seen each other since then until about a year ago," she explained. "I'm…"

"Bridget!" Wordy blurted, snapping his fingers and pointing at her. He looked over at Sam. "Remember, Spike showed us her picture. He ran into her in…"

"Jamaica, that's right," confirmed Bridget.

"I'm Kevin Wordsworth," he introduced himself, "but people just call me Wordy." He nodded toward Sam who flashed a half smile. "And, that's Sam Braddock."

"Hi. You guys work with Mike, don't you?" asked Bridget. "I think I remember him mentioning you."

She turned to their friend again, trying to elicit a response. "Mike?" When none came, she reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, drawing his gaze to her face. She waited until she saw he recognized her before taking his left hand in both of hers.

"Hey, Mike," she said cautiously. "What happened to your hand, sweetie?" She spoke softly while gently removing the bloodied gauze from his palm. As she spoke, the EMT returned with a first-aid kit. He started to open it just as the last of the gauze was removed from Spike's hand revealing a deep gash where the splintered wood and rusted nail had gouged the flesh.

Bridget looked at the EMT. "I'm not sure a first-aid kit's going to do it," she said. "We're going to need to clean this out thoroughly." She looked at her friend who was still trying to rub at the wound with his other hand. Bridget had to keep swatting it away. She finally grabbed it and held on.

"Mike, how about you come with me and we'll get your hand taken care of, okay?" She stood, holding his gaze and gently pulling him up out of the chair. Once on his feet, though, he swayed and Wordy grabbed hold of him to keep him upright.

Bridget took a good, close look at Spike, noting the dark circles, sallow skin and general listlessness. He was exhausted, to say the least. She looked at Sam and Wordy.

"When's the last time he ate something?" she asked. She frowned when they both shook their heads. She turned back to Spike.

"Mike, honey, when did you eat last?"

He looked confused by the question, which did not bode well to her. It took a moment, but he finally mumbled a response, "Breakfast?"

Bridget's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs at that. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearing 10:00PM.

"Okay," she said, "we'll just go get your hand looked at and then I'm going to take you to the cafeteria so you can get something to eat."

Bridget looked between Wordy and Sam and pointed to a curtained area on the other side of the ER. "I'm going to take Mike over there to get his hand cleaned up and have a doctor look at it," she explained. "It might need stitches."

The two men nodded and told her they'd wait there. They watched as she guided their friend across the ER, each hoping the woman would be able to get through to Spike and get him talking about whatever it was that was troubling him.

* * *

**Author's Note – Take 2**: I've wondered what happened to the woman Spike met up with and ditched Lew for in Jamaica, so I thought I'd explore what I think could have happened. I have my own theory why she was only mentioned in "One Wrong Move" which I'll get into next time. Let me know what you think. Thanks again for reading and don't forget to review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: Let me check here…nope; still don't own anything Flashpoint related, or much of anything else really, except this particular little story.

**Author's note**: Once again, thank you to all who have read and especially to those who have reviewed. I very much appreciate your kind words and they keep the muse happy and productive.

* * *

Greg Parker and Jules Callaghan stepped out of the elevator on the third-floor maternity ward and went straight to the nearest nurse's station only to find it empty.

"You don't know what room she's in?" Jules asked.

Parker shook his head. "No, I called Sophie to tell her that Ed was held up," he said. "I didn't want to leave the ER in case they came back with a status on his condition. Besides," he continued, "I never would have been able to lie to her face to face."

He had felt sick at the thought of having to lie to his best friend's wife, especially considering what she was going through with the pregnancy and delivery of their second child. Still, he considered it the lesser of two evils. Even now, Greg was afraid that Sophie would lose the baby or worse if he told her that Ed was downstairs fighting for his life. Unfortunately, he no longer had any choice.

They looked down the long hallway, spotted a nurse coming out of a room and started walking briskly toward her. Not seeing them, the nurse turned and started walking away and the two officers picked up their pace. They had almost caught up to her when Jules was nearly run over by a young man coming from an intersecting hallway. The young man looked up and stopped just in time.

"Sorry! Uhm..." he looked at Jules, confused, before focusing on the man with her. "Uh, Mr. Parker?" he said, somewhat surprised to see his father's friend.

Greg stopped and turned to face the boy. "Clark! How's your mom doing?" he asked gently.

"Uh, well, the doctor's in the room with her right now," he explained. "I'm not really sure what's going on, but I know there's a problem. I heard my mom talking to my dad on the phone and she said something about the baby's heartbeat being too slow or something." He sounded uncertain.

"But, that was, like, hours ago and he still isn't here." The boy radiated anxiety, making him look younger than his fifteen years.

Clark Lane fixed his gaze upon the policeman. "Where is my dad?" he asked. "Why isn't he here? He told my mom he was on his way. He said that he'd be here," his voice rose with fear. "Where is he?"

Greg stepped over to him, placed a hand on each of the boy's arms and looked him in the eyes. "Why don't we go see your mom and I can talk to both of you at the same time, okay?" he said.

Greg could see that Clark was clearly overwhelmed. He needed to get the boy back to his mother quickly. The two of them would need each other more than ever once they heard the news about Ed.

The teenager's heart sank, instantly filled with a sense of dread. He could tell from the looks on the adults' faces that the news was grim. His father had been a cop since before he was born and ever since he was old enough to know what that meant Clark had always lived with the fear that one day his father would leave for work never to return. Looking at the man and woman standing in front of him, he got the feeling that today was that day. He nodded to Parker, set his shoulders and turned back the way he had come, leading the others to his mom's room. As he walked, Clark took several deep breaths in an effort to calm down. He didn't want to look like a scared kid, especially not if he was going to have to the man of the house from now on.

* * *

Sam and Wordy sat back down as soon as Bridget and Spike were out of sight.

"Man, I don't think I've ever seen Spike so out of it," said Sam. He turned to his teammate. "What about you?" he asked.

Wordy shook his head. "I've known Spike for over four years now and he's never been anything like this. He is the most upbeat, positive, happy-go-lucky person I've ever met." He looked at Sam. "Spike is the last person I would expect this from," he said. He looked back in the direction the object of their discussion had gone.

"But," he concluded, "I guess everyone has their breaking point. I just wish I knew what it is that's breaking him."

"It's got to have something to do with Dr. Toth and the psych evaluation," theorized Sam. "I mean, think about it," he said. "He was fine in the shoot house, wasn't he?"

Wordy thought about it for a minute before nodding his head. "Yeah, remember, he was joking before the test. He left the last shooter for me and then he got her when I missed the takedown shot," he remembered. "He was smiling and patted me on the shoulder, said he had my back." That thought brought back the guilt he'd felt about the obstacle course and how he'd handled that situation. He just hoped his reaction hadn't added to Spike's distress.

"And, he was fine when we started the team drills, too," offered Sam. "You were already in with Toth at the time."

The two sat in silence for a while, each of them trying to come up with a concrete reason for their friend's funk.

"I'll bet it has something to do with Lew," Sam speculated quietly. "Toth brought up Darren Kovacs in my psych eval. I still have a hard time sometimes when I think about that call, when I think I should have been able to save him."

Wordy's face fell. "Oh, man!" he said as he dropped his head back. "I didn't even think about that. Of course, Toth would bring that up with Spike. Lew was his best friend and I wouldn't be surprised if Spike still feels guilty about it." He fingered the black wristband he wore in honor of their fallen teammate, Lewis Young, without thinking.

"Yeah, he does," agreed Sam. "Sometimes I'll catch him staring at Lew's plaque on the wall when he thinks no one's around."

"And, don't forget his first partner," Wordy reminded him. "Sergeant MacCoy. That one's still pretty fresh," he said. "If Toth brought that call up, too…" he didn't finish the thought, but he didn't have to. Sam understood.

"That's two close friends he's lost in the last year," said Sam.

"Except MacCoy wasn't just a close friend to Spike, was he?" Wordy asked. "Didn't Spike say Mac was there for him, supported his decision to join the force when his father wouldn't?"

"Mm-hmm," nodded Sam. "Father figure; that'd throw a huge monkey wrench into everything, wouldn't it?"

Sam hoped they were on the right track, but he wasn't sure. Spike had seemed to be handling Mac's loss okay, or at least better than he'd handled losing Lew. The bomb tech had promised his former mentor that he'd look after the man's daughter and as far as Sam knew, he'd kept that promise. Each time he saw Spike after he'd visited Leslie MacCoy, his friend had seemed a little calmer, a bit more grounded.

Still, figuring out what was bothering Spike was only half the battle. They needed to get him talking about it if there was to be any hope of helping their friend through his trauma.

Sam and Wordy sat there, each lost in thought, the only interruption being the arrival of Shelley Wordsworth. Wordy held his wife close for a long moment before letting her go so she could go up and see Sophie Lane. The two men then resumed their silent vigil.

* * *

Inside the small, curtained enclosure, Bridget worked quickly and efficiently to clean the gash in Spike's hand. He hadn't said a word as she'd led him away from the waiting area and even now the only sound he made was a slight hiss when she applied an alcohol swab to the wound. She placed a thick pad of gauze in his palm before placing the fingers of his other hand on top of it.

"Okay, Mike," she told him, "I need you to keep some pressure on this while I go find a doctor to take a look at it, okay?" She waited until he acknowledged her with a slight nod of his head and then left him, closing the curtain behind her. She returned a few minutes later with a young resident in tow.

The doctor smiled at him as she approached.

"Hi, my name is Dani," she said as she reached for his hand. "Bridget tells me you've got a pretty nasty cut there. Mind if I take a look?"

Spike didn't say anything, but let her take his hand. Dani lifted the gauze, frowning as she looked closely at the palm and prodded it a bit with her latex-covered thumbs.

"How'd you cut it?" she asked him, glancing up at his face and pausing from her ministrations.

When he didn't respond, Bridget took his other hand and shook his arm a little until he looked over at her.

"Mike?" asked Bridget, "what happened to your hand?"

He looked between the two women for a second or two before responding. "Obstacle course. A wooden slat broke off. Couldn't stop. Grabbed the broken part. Might've hit a nail."

The two women shared a concerned look. The stilted, monotone reply was a red flag that something far more serious than a cut palm was wrong here.

"Okay," said Dani with a nod, "splintered wood and likely a rusty nail. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?" she asked.

When he just shrugged his shoulder, she looked over at Bridget. "Bridg, why don't you go and get a shot ready for him while I check for any splinters here?"

"You got it," replied Bridget. She squeezed Spike's hand and said, "I'll be right back, okay?" He didn't say anything and with another squeeze, she let go and went in search of the prescribed medication.

Dani pulled a lighted magnifying glass over and turned it on, placing it above his hand. She poked and prodded the wound looking for any sign of a splinter or other irritant, occasionally swabbing the wound to sop up the blood that squeezed out as she manipulated the skin.

"Ah-ha!" she exclaimed as a tiny bit of wood finally poked its way out from under the bloody mess. "There you are." She reached for a pair of tweezers and expertly removed the offending sliver.

Finally satisfied after searching for a couple more minutes that it was the only thing she was going to find, Dani once again swabbed the wound. She then placed a couple of butterfly bandages over it, followed by another thick piece of gauze and wrapped the whole thing with gauze tape to hold it in.

"The good news is, it doesn't require stitches," she told Spike. "The bad news is, since you can't tell me when you got your last tetanus shot, I'm going to have to give you one just to be safe. We don't want to take any chances, right?" she smiled at him.

Bridget returned a few minutes later with a syringe and after having Dani verify the dosage she quickly administered the shot. She thanked the doctor for her help and the young resident said her goodbyes, reminding him to change the dressing periodically to keep the wound clean and went back to work.

"Okay," Bridget once more pulled Spike gently to his feet. "Let's get you some food," she said as she started to lead him back out into the ER. He didn't move, though, and she stopped to look back at him.

He shook his head. "'M not hungry," he mumbled.

Bridget sighed and stepped into his personal space, looking up into his eyes, still shocked to see the desolation behind them. She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a gentle hug, disappointed, though not completely surprised given his obvious mood that he didn't reciprocate.

After a minute, she let go and stepped back to speak firmly to him. "Your head may think you're not hungry," she said, "but, your body knows it is." Just at that moment, his stomach gave a loud, rumbling growl and she smiled up at him.

"See?" she said as she lightly poked him in the midsection. "Your stomach says it needs food. Now, come on. Let's go." She took him by the hand again and this time he let her lead him out of the ER and to the hospital cafeteria.

They sat in the nearly deserted dining room. Bridget nursed her coffee as she watched Spike swirl a spoon around in his otherwise untouched bowl of soup. He stared at the hot liquid and watched as small chunks of chicken and vegetables would come to the surface only to be thrust back down into the whirlpool created by the circular motion. He felt just as out of control as he imagined they would, if inanimate objects could feel.

"Food usually works better for you when you actually eat it, you know" she gently chided him. "Playing with it just isn't as effective." She waited for a response and though he didn't say anything, at least he stopped swirling his soup long enough to take a spoonful and swallow it down. He went back to swirling and the silence returned as Bridget thought of something she could say to draw him out.

"You know, Mike," she tried again, "I was a little disappointed and hurt when you didn't call me after I got back from Jamaica." She paused, watching him closely before continuing. "But, then I read about what happened at the college. At first it didn't register who it was that got killed, but then I saw his picture on the news. It was your friend Lew, wasn't it?" she asked sadly.

Spike didn't answer, just kept swirling his soup.

"I tried to call you after I saw that, left you a few messages. But, you never called me back. I guess it was too soon, huh?" She nodded her head. "I get it."

Bridget waited for some kind of response from him. She thought of the boy she'd known in high school, the one who was almost always smiling, the boy who had managed to outsmart or deflect all the bullies until they just gave up trying to mess with him. Nothing had ever brought him down, at least not for long.

She thought of the man she'd run into on the beach in Jamaica. She'd recognized him right away and had stopped to say hello. When he'd seen who she was, his whole face just lit up. He'd always had the cutest smile with his dimples and when he smiled at her, she felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. She smiled a little at the memory of Mike's friends, Lew and Ava, trying to get his attention so he could introduce them. Mike had just stood there smiling and staring at her for what seemed like forever. The memory faded with her smile as she gazed at him trying to reconcile the man in her memory with the forlorn one now sitting across from her.

"Mike?" she asked softly, "What's going on? What's wrong?" She reached across the table to take his bandaged hand in hers. They'd spent four of the happiest, most carefree days of her life together in Ocho Rios, but now the look of ineffable sadness on his face was breaking her heart.

"Please let me in," she pleaded with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: Normal disclaimer applies. Don't own Flashpoint or much of anything else and I still plan to return all the characters in good working order, even Spike.

**Author's note**: Sorry for the delay in getting this out. An insanely long, busy workweek and Pinewood Derby season conspired to rob me of three evenings this week. Also, I must have rewritten the scene with Bridget and Spike at least three times and I'm still not completely satisfied with it. You'll have to let me know if it came out okay, 'cause I'm not at all convinced. I also wanted to have more of Sophie and Clark, but I'm already close to 3,000 words just with this. Again, thanks to all who read and especially to those who review!

* * *

He felt like he was floating bodiless in a silent sea of darkness. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, slow and steady, and even that was indistinct. He struggled to remember what had happened, what had brought him to this particular circumstance. But, he couldn't. His mind was as blank as his current surroundings. How long he remained in this state he couldn't know, but eventually, he became aware of a strange, high-pitched beeping, a sound barely audible, but steadier even than that of his own measured breaths.

In time, the beeping became louder and the darkness began to fade until he could see a dim light along the edges of it. He became aware of something pressing heavily upon his back as well. It was as if whatever was touching his back was trying to lift him forcefully up into the light.

Ever so slowly, he became aware of his limbs, though try as he might, he could not move them even the slightest bit. Every now and then, he could feel something touch his arm, pressing down on his wrist, or something would rustle on his chest and he wondered what could be making that sound. He could now feel something extremely heavy pressing down on his chest; coupled with whatever was pressing into his back it made him feel as if he was being squeezed to death. He still could see nothing but the faint rim of light at the edge of the darkness, though the darkness continued to recede and before long, he could see vague, blurry shapes bustling about the periphery.

Periodically, as he crept toward consciousness, a blurry shape would lean down near his face and speak to him, but it was as if they spoke some alien language he didn't understand. He couldn't even make out distinct words; it was just a series of tones with no definition whatsoever. Still the beeping became ever louder as did the background noise. There was a hum of activity all around him. But, it kept some distance away, surrounding his protective, little cocoon.

He didn't notice it right away, but eventually, the darkness disappeared to reveal a somewhat small, glass-enclosed room. People walked back and forth on the other side of the glass, some in green or blue scrubs and some with white lab coats over their scrubs. He saw police officers and EMTs walk by. Occasionally, an orderly or two would push a gurney past the window, the patient covered in a thin blanket. Sometimes a doctor or nurse would accompany them.

Ed Lane realized he was in a hospital, though he wasn't sure precisely where in the hospital he was. For some reason, the word 'hospital' stuck in his head along with a sense of urgency, though he couldn't work out why. He was having trouble concentrating on anything other than his breathing and the now infernal beeping. _Won't anyone turn that damn thing off?_ he wondered.

He turned to look on the other side of the bed, which he now realized was what was pushing up on his back. He saw a counter behind which sat a pretty young nurse who was checking something on a clipboard.

Ed tried to call out to her and was surprised to hear a weak, croaking grunt come out. Apparently, he had lost the ability to speak while he was unconscious.

The nurse looked up when he tried again. He still hadn't been able to form a coherent sentence, or even a word, but at least he'd been loud enough to get her attention. She came over to him and offered him some ice chips. He wanted to ask her what had happened to him, but realized he needed to first soothe his ravaged throat. So, he nodded and accepted the ice, letting it melt on his tongue and flow into the back of his throat. After a few more mouthfuls, he tried to speak again.

"What… happened?" he managed to croak; this time the words were loud enough and clear enough for her to hear and understand.

"You don't remember?" asked the nurse. He shook his head; at least he thought he did. He couldn't really tell if it actually moved.

She waited a moment, debating whether to tell him or to get a doctor. He had hit his head on the pavement when he'd been shot, and though they hadn't found any bruising, a concussion was still a possibility.

Ed thought about it while she hesitated. He remembered yelling at someone. He'd been driving, had gotten out of his car. _Why?_ he wondered. He thought about the weight pressing down on his chest and he remembered seeing a flash of silver. He recalled reaching for his sidearm only to find his holster empty.

"Shot?" he asked. The nurse nodded.

The sense of urgency increased as the details came rushing back. He'd been trying to get to the hospital for some reason. Why had he been in such a hurry? Then he remembered the phone call.

"Soph…" he whispered. He looked at the nurse as he tried desperately to get up. Unfortunately, it seemed that only his head was moving. His limbs were still too heavy for him to lift. If he couldn't lift his arms and legs, there was no way he was getting that elephant off his chest.

"My wife…baby... need to… get to…" His head fell back with a sigh as he quickly expended all of his energy. He lay panting slightly, panic setting in as he remembered his wife telling him there was a problem with the delivery, that their baby girl's heartbeat was too slow. He'd told her he was coming, that he was minutes away. How long ago had that been? His last thought before he once again lost consciousness was of his wife panicking at their unborn daughter's distress.

* * *

Clark Lane entered the private hospital room to find his mother staring out the window. Tears streaked her face and she hastily swiped at them as soon as she heard the approaching footsteps.

"Mom?" Clark jogged over to her side, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her hand in his. "What's wrong? What did the doctor say?" he asked worriedly.

She looked over his shoulder to see Greg and Jules standing behind him, looking just as concerned as Clark. The hopeful look on her face vanished when she realized her husband was not with them. She reached for her son's hand.

"Don't worry, honey," she gave him a tight smile. "Everything's going to be fine," her words belied by her tear stained cheeks. She looked back at Greg and Jules.

"Greg," Sophie all but spat out the name. "Where is Ed? It's been hours," she reasoned. "It usually doesn't take this long even when he has to…" she stopped short, glancing quickly at Clark before darting her eyes back to Greg. Clark knew his father was an elite SRU officer; he hadn't been told his father was a sniper. She and Ed had tried their best to shield their son from the uglier aspects of the job as much as possible.

Parker stepped forward. "I know, Sophie," he shook his head sadly, his jaw clenching tight as he tried to figure out how to tell her what he didn't want to tell her. He sat in the chair next to the bed. Jules moved to stand next to him. Greg looked at Clark a long moment then took a deep breath and focused his attention on Sophie.

"I was hoping that I would have better news when I came up here, but…" he trailed off.

"Greg, just tell me what's going on!" Sophie was starting to get angry. It was bad enough her husband hadn't been around for pretty much the entire pregnancy; now it seemed he wouldn't be around for the birth of his daughter, with all its attending complications. She was really starting to hate the SRU.

"Okay," Greg nodded as he steeled himself. "There was an incident on his way over here this afternoon. According to eyewitnesses, it was a case of road rage." He glanced up and Jules and then Clark before returning his gaze to his friend's wife.

"You told me that over the phone," she glared at him, "hours ago!"

"Sophie," he stopped and then started again. "Ed wasn't a witness. He was involved in the incident." Taking a deep breath, he continued. "He was shot. Twice. In the chest."

Clark gasped and Jules moved to place a hand on his shoulder. The horrified looks from mother and son were almost more than Greg could bear. Immediately, the heart monitor attached to Sophie began beeping faster and faster. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.

Within minutes, a nurse came hustling into the room to check things out. She started to ask if everything was all right until she saw the state everyone was in. She glared at the two first-time visitors.

"You can't be in here if you're going to cause my patient any undue stress," she growled as she checked the leads to the various monitors and machines.

She placed a hand on her patient's shoulder and asked gently, "are you okay, Mrs. Lane? Do you need me to get the doctor again for you?"

Sophie shook her head and did her best to calm herself.

Clark was the first to find his voice. "Is he…?" he couldn't finish the question as he nearly choked on the last word.

It was Greg's turn to shake his head. "No! Clark…," he quickly interjected, kicking himself for putting it in such a way as to imply the worst. "He's downstairs in the ER." He turned back to boy's mother. "He just got out of surgery," he told her. "They'll be moving him to the CICU soon."

"He's in critical condition?" whispered Sophie, staring at a spot on the wall above his left shoulder.

Greg nodded. "He had to have a transfusion. One of the bullets nicked an artery," he said. "The doctor said the next 24 to 48 hours are critical."

Sophie Lane began to shake uncontrollably as the information started to sink in.

"Mom?" Clark was becoming more scared by the second. "Mom, are you all right?"

Jules walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down on it, placing a comforting arm around the other woman and drawing her into an embrace.

"Sophie," she said, "Ed is strong, you know that. And, he loves you and Clark and your baby girl more than anything in the world. So, you know he's going to fight with everything he has." She looked over at her boss. "Ed is not going to give up!"

* * *

Bridget's thumb caressed the back of Spike's injured hand as she waited for him to speak. When several moments passed and he didn't, she squeezed gently, making sure to avoid the cut on his palm.

"Come on, Mike" she pleaded with him. "You can't keep holding everything in. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Please?"

Spike just kept swirling the spoon around the cup of soup as he continued to stare at it. After another moment he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"He really liked you, you know," he said. "He told me on the flight home. He said that we were good together."

Bridget smiled a little at that. She had liked Lew, too, and could tell the two men were close. They'd had an easy banter and it was clear to her that Lew's opinion mattered a great deal to Mike.

"He told me I should call you," Spike whispered starkly. "He was standing on a landmine, and he was telling me that I should call you." Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered those last few moments with his best friend.

"He said… that you like baseball and there was a game that night, that I should call you and take you to the game," his voice broke and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Spike looked up at her. "He knew he was going to die and he was worried about me!" He said, looking back down at the soup. "He waited until I was far enough away and then he…he…"

Spike shook his head, unable to finish.

He started to shake. He closed his eyes tight, fighting against the tears that threatened to overpower his defenses. His mind was racing, his thoughts a swirling mess to match the contents of the cup in front of him. He dropped the spoon and covered his face with his good hand as he clung desperately to Bridget with the other. The wound on his hand throbbed with pain, but he barely felt it. He held his breath, swallowing down the sobs fighting to get out. When he was able to, he took a few deep, calming breaths.

"I really miss him," he whispered.

Bridget gently squeezed his hand. "I know you do, baby. I know."

He looked back up at her. "It should've been me," he told her.

Bridget shook her head. "Don't say that."

It was Spike's turn to shake his head. "I'm the bomb tech. It was my job to defuse the bomb, not Lew's."

"What you're feeling, Mike," she replied, "is survivor's guilt, and it's perfectly normal. But it doesn't mean you should have died instead of him."

He shook his head again, looking down. "You don't understand," he said.

Bridget leaned in to look him in the eye, "then help me understand," she said. "Why should it have been you?"

"He never should have been there. I never should have let him go near that bomb," said Spike.

"Okay, then why did you?" asked Bridget.

"Because I wasn't there," he said. "I was on the other side of town, defusing another bomb."

"So, why didn't Lew just wait for you?" she asked.

"Because there wasn't time!" explained Spike. "The third bomb was set to go off in like thirty minutes! By the time I could get there, I wouldn't have had time to defuse it." He paused and went back to staring at his soup.

"Lew cleared around the bomb and found that it could take down the entire building," he said. "That's when he stepped on the mine."

Bridget nodded as Spike picked up the spoon and started swirling the soup again. "So, it was his choice," she said. "You couldn't have stopped him anyway, because you weren't there." She reasoned.

"I could've said no," Spike stubbornly insisted. "I'm the bomb tech," he reiterated.

"Couldn't your boss override you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess," he said.

"So what did your boss say?" asked Bridget.

"He wanted me to let Lew take a look," he remembered.

She nodded, "It wasn't your fault, Mike; you know that, right?" she asked.

Spike just stared at the soup. She was just about to prod him again when he said, "I could have disabled the mine." He paused. "I should have disabled the mine."

"You can do that?"

He shrugged. "Depends on the mine. Most mines you can at least re-pin."

"And this one?" she asked.

Spike closed his eyes. "Bastard glued the pinhole," he whispered, shaking his head. "Lew just kept talking about Jamaica. I was trying to think of some way to disable the damn thing and he's going on about you and the beach and the ocean, being rocked by the waves," he said. "That's when I thought of trying to do a weight transfer."

"A weight transfer?" asked Bridget, "You mean like, in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_? Would that have worked?" she asked, "because it didn't go so well for Indiana Jones. And, that was just a bag of sand and a little statue." She didn't mean to be flippant; she wanted him to see that it wasn't his fault, that he hadn't failed his friend.

"Lew didn't think so, obviously," said Spike.

"What about you?" she asked him. "Do you think it would have worked?"

Dr. Toth had asked essentially the same question during his psych evaluation. He hadn't really responded at the time. Now he shook his head bleakly. "It was a long shot," he said. "Lew knew it. We both did."

* * *

Sophie cried out and sat up as a contraction hit. Breathing through the pain, she looked over at the fetal monitor and her heart dropped. The baby's heart rate was 84 beats per minute. This was not good. The doctor had told her that fetal brachycardia often resulted in poor outcomes. He hadn't elaborated on exactly what that meant, but Sophie wasn't stupid. She knew that a very low heart rate meant low oxygen levels and low oxygen levels meant possible heart, lung and brain deficiencies, even death. She almost burst into tears as she thought of the possibilities. She had hoped that Ed's presence would at least help keep her calm even if he couldn't do anything for their daughter. But, with her husband lying downstairs fighting for his own life, she knew she was on her own. Clark was doing his best, but he was only fifteen. He didn't deserve to be in this position, trying to make up for his father's absence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: Standard disclaimer applies.

**Author's note**: Thanks again to everyone who read and reviewed! This is definitely my least favorite chapter so far; it's a little short with not a lot going on. I've got some more ideas for the Spike/Bridget storyline, but my muse seems to be bored with the whole hospital thing right now. Still, I hope this will hold you until I get the next chapter hammered out. As always, let me know what you think. _**- Psy**_

_**

* * *

**_

The doctor and nurse stepped into the room just as the contraction reached its peak and the doctor motioned the other three people out of the room as he began to examine his patient. Checking both maternal and fetal heart monitors, he noted the time the contraction started as well as both heart rates. He then directed Sophie to lie on her left side, explaining that it would help relieve any pressure on the baby and umbilical cord. He instructed the nurse to apply an oxygen mask and to increase the IV fluid drip, explaining to Sophie that it would increase blood flow volume and oxygenation to the placenta. Once they had Sophie repositioned with the mask, the doctor advised her that they were going to suppress the contractions and delay delivery in order to administer a drug that would accelerate the baby's lung maturity. The hope was that all of these efforts would serve to increase the baby's heart rate and prevent or at least mitigate any negative outcomes.

Sophie did her best to take it all in, but her nerves were raw and her mind was all over the place, her fear – for her baby, her son and for her husband – all encompassing. It was becoming overwhelming and she wasn't sure how much more she could take. When she thought she was about to lose it and start panicking completely, she heard a small, firm voice in her head telling her to focus on just one thing. When Sophie realized she was hearing Ed's voice she almost burst out laughing. It was ludicrous. Her husband had been MIA for months –

_ Now, wait a minute_, another voice countered, _you left him to go stay with your folks_.

_ Maybe_, she argued with her inner voice, _but he wasn't there for the ultrasound, or when I needed help around the house, and he was late when I ended up in the hospital almost a month ago…_

– And here he was talking her through her panic attack, or so she imagined.

Sophie decided to take the advice and focus on what she could control right now. She started taking slow, measured breaths. She thought about Clark and how different his birth had been. He had been an easy baby to carry and deliver. She thought about how nervous and excited Ed had been the first time he'd held his son. She remembered the love that had shone in his eyes as he looked at his wife and newborn. Sophie knew Ed still loved her, perhaps even as much as he had back then. The problem was, his job was just so much more demanding now. She wished they could go back in time to when their lives were much less complicated. She realized that her whirling thoughts were not helping her in her effort to control her breathing, so she closed her eyes and did her best to clear her mind of everything else.

About this time, the elevator deposited Shelley Wordsworth on the third floor and she quickly stepped out to look for her friend's room. She spotted a nurse just leaving the main nurse's station and called out to her.

"Excuse me!" she waved to the young woman. "I'm looking for a patient. Can you help me?"

The nurse turned back and moved to the other side of the counter, pulling up the main screen of the computer. "What's the last name?" she asked.

"Lane," replied Shelley, "First name Sophia."

Confirming the room number, the nurse gave it to Shelley and directed her down the corridor and to the right. Shelley thanked her and made her way through the maternity ward to Sophie's room.

She found Clark Lane, Greg Parker and Jules Callaghan just stepping outside the room. She waved to them and walked a little faster until she met up with them. She smiled sympathetically at Clark and started to ask how his mother was doing until she saw the alarm on his face. His hands were jammed into his jeans pockets and she could see he was on the verge of tears.

Shelley looked at the man who stood close to him, one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Greg?" she asked.

She didn't need to utter a word; he knew what she was asking. He nodded. "They know about Ed," he told her.

"How's Sophie doing?" asked Shelley, changing the subject back to her reason for being there, "and the baby?"

Greg shook his head, "We don't know all of the details, but the baby's heart rate is too slow."

"Too slow? What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means it's not good!" answered Clark heatedly. "It means my baby sister could have a problem with her heart, or she's not getting enough oxygen. It means she could die!" he said.

Shelley reached out to give him a hug, but he just turned away and stalked down the hallway.

"Poor Clark," Shelley shook her head as she watched him go. "He's got so much on his shoulders right now, with his mom and sister," she looked back at the other two, "and now with his dad, too."

"How does he deal with it all?" was Jules' question. "It's a lot for an adult. He's just a kid."

Greg was also watching the young man's retreating back. "The same way we all do," he said, "the best we can." He turned back to Jules and gave her arm a squeeze. "I'm going to take him downstairs, make sure he gets something to eat and see if we can get him in to see Eddie," he said. "Are you two going to stay here with Sophie?"

The young women nodded and he turned to go after Clark who had turned a corner and was now out of sight.

Greg searched for the teen through the maze of the maternity ward, finally locating him in a stairwell on the other side. Clark had finally broken down and Greg found him sitting on the landing, sobbing. He didn't say a word, just put an arm around the boy's shoulders and let him get it out.

"It's not fair!" Clark railed. "It's too much! My mom doesn't deserve this. I don't deserve this! My dad…" He swallowed back another sob, lifting his eyes above. "It's just not fair!"

Greg hugged him closer, rocking him a little, but said nothing. He knew that nothing he could say right now would help. He recalled doing the same for Spike on that awful day when they lost Lew. Spike had been inconsolable then and just for a moment Greg wondered what was going on with his young tech right now; had Wordy or Sam been able to get through to him and get him talking?

When Clark calmed down a little, Greg told him that he was proud of how well he'd handled all of this and that his dad would be proud of him, too.

Clark snorted, "Yeah, I'm crying like a baby," he said. "I'm handling this just great."

"While your sarcasm is noted, Clark," Greg smirked a little at him. "You need to remember that it's been just you and your mom here for what – five, six hours?" Greg said. "You've done a great job of holding it together, being strong for your mom. And, that's just what she needs right now. She needs to know that you're going to be okay so she can focus on your sister. And, you're doing great, Clark, you really are."

Greg gave him another hug and told him of the plan to get something to eat and go see his father. Wiping his nose on his shirtsleeves, Clark nodded and stood and the two started down the stairs.

After Shelley left to see Sophie, Sam and Wordy sat silently watching the activity in the ER. Even though it was late on a Sunday night, the hospital staff was quite busy and the two marveled at just how many sick and injured people went through the downtown emergency room.

Greg and Clark arrived in the ER waiting area a little while later, the teen's eyes red and puffy from crying. Greg was surprised to find Spike gone, but the two men quickly told him about Bridget and her plan to get his hand redressed and get him something to eat. Greg mentioned that he and Clark were looking to get some food as well and it was decided they should all head to the hospital cafeteria before it closed down for the night. So the four of them left the ER and went in search of food. They made it with fifteen minutes to spare, and though the selection was limited, they all managed to find something they could eat.

After paying for all of them, Greg led them through the nearly empty dining area. He spotted Spike and Bridget in a booth on the near side. Spike was staring at the cup in front of him and it looked as though he might have been crying; Greg couldn't really tell. Not wanting to interrupt them, especially if Bridget had managed to get their friend talking, he led Clark, Sam and Wordy to the opposite side of the dining room behind a half-wall. He took a seat where he could surreptitiously keep an eye on the other two.

The four men ate quickly, the adults doing their best to distract Clark from his worries. They didn't want to be away from the ER for too long in case they got a chance to see Ed before he was moved upstairs. Just as the cafeteria was closing, they got up, cleared the table and made their way back to the ER. On the way out, Greg saw that Spike was indeed talking and he lifted a silent prayer of thanks.

It was about thirty minutes later that a nurse stepped into the waiting area to inform them that they could see their friend for a few minutes before he was moved up to the CICU. They followed her through a set of doors and down a long hallway dotted with examination rooms, turning a corner and down another hallway with fewer doors leading to operating rooms. They passed one section of the OR area and walked into the somewhat darkened area known as the Recovery Room. Located centrally to the operating rooms, the recovery room was set apart from the rest of the ER by floor-to-ceiling glass walls. A circular nurse's station sat in the center surrounded by smaller quadrants, most of which contained gurneys filled with patients and their accompanying IVs, monitors and other life-saving equipment.

The nurse led the men to one of the quadrants where they found their friend and teammate. They walked slowly, not sure what to expect. They took note of the IV, blood pressure and heart monitors attached to the figure lying on the gurney. His eyes were closed as they approached and he looked for all the world like he was sleeping. Were it not for all the machines and the layers of gauze piled on and wrapped around his chest, one might not even know he'd been shot.

Sam and Wordy dropped back a step or two, allowing Greg and Clark to see him first. Clark stepped hesitantly up to the side of the bed and tentatively took his father's hand. Ed's eyes opened as soon as he felt the touch, though it took him a second to register whose it was. As soon as he recognized his boy, he smiled up at him and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, Clark," croaked Ed, "how're you doing, buddy?" Even in his weakened state, Ed could see the lines of tension around Clark's eyes and mouth and the red, puffy eyes. "You okay?"

Clark's reply caught in his throat and he wondered how his dad could be concerned about him when he was the one who had just come out of surgery.

"I'm okay, dad," he nodded, his voice not quite as strong as he would have liked, but certainly not weak. Still, Ed could sense the undercurrent of fear. It was perfectly understandable. The kid had almost lost his father while he was singlehandedly dealing with his mother's difficult delivery of his baby sister.

"How's your mom?" asked Ed. He glanced over at Greg. "Does Sophie know?" he asked him, not waiting for his son's answer. The other two looked at each other, Clark's eyes almost pleading with Greg to answer both questions. The officer nodded and turned to his friend.

"She knows, Eddie," he answered. "She's having a rough time, but she's doing okay." It was a tightrope, this dance around the whole truth. Greg knew Ed wouldn't appreciate it if he sugarcoated anything, but Greg was acutely aware that Clark was also listening.

"She's scared, I can tell you that, but she's gonna be fine." Greg nodded toward the teenager standing next to him. "Clark's been there for her every step of the way and he's been real strong for her," he assured his friend.

Ed looked at his son with pride and squeezed his hand again. "I know. And, I'm real proud of you, Clark. I know all of this is has been hard on you. I'm sorry I haven't been there to help you, buddy." Ed's voice cracked a little and the others did their best to ignore the tears welling up in the team leader's eyes.

For his part, Clark looked almost embarrassed. "It's okay, dad," he said. "Well," he clarified, "not really **okay**, okay, but I guess, you know, it's okay." He stopped as he realized what he was saying. He shook his head. "You know what I mean."

The four spoke with Ed for a few more minutes before the nurse who had brought them in reappeared and ushered them back out to the waiting area. She explained that it would take another fifteen to thirty minutes to transfer the patient up to CICU and that once he was there only immediate family were allowed to visit.

Spike was not back in the waiting room yet so Sam and Wordy offered to wait for him. Clark and Greg decided to head back up to the maternity ward to check on Sophie and relieve Jules and Shelley. As they walked, Greg noticed that Clark seemed a little bit calmer now that he'd seen his father was awake and talking. His fists no longer jammed into his pockets, he held his head up high. His eyes were clear and determined, though definitely tired. He looked ready to face whatever else might come his way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: Let me check…Nope, still don't own Flashpoint. Doggone it!

**A/N**: A few caveats for this one: I don't really remember what kind of gun Sam had in the episode 'Scorpio,' but a pearl-handled Colt pistol was what came to my mind and it sounded good. I also don't remember if it was actually Wordy that put the pepper spray in Spike's gear, which I believe was mentioned in 'Clean Hands,' but I'm going to go with it. Finally, I'm just winging it when it comes to Spike's family. I don't think any of his siblings have been mentioned directly, though I do remember a comment about him taking a nephew to see 'The Lion King' in a second season episode, so we know he has at least one. In my world, he's the youngest of five with three brothers and a sister.

* * *

Bridget looked up as a janitor passed by pushing a broom. Across the room, she saw Mike's friends along with a police officer and a teenage boy leave the cafeteria. She glanced up at the clock, only marginally surprised that it was after eleven o'clock. They had been sitting here for nearly an hour and Mike still hadn't eaten his soup.

Sensing that he needed a break from the very serious subject of Lewis, Bridget had asked about his other two friends whom she only vaguely remembered him mentioning in Jamaica. Spike told her about Sam's arrival on Team One, how he'd shown up unannounced inside the police barricade in North York Plaza after the call had gone down and how they had all drawn their weapons when he lifted his jacket to show Jules his pearl-handled Colt pistol.

"Well," Spike hesitated, "all of us except Ed and the boss. They were driven back for their SIU interviews," he explained.

"SIU?" asked Bridget.

"Special Investigations Unit," explained Spike, "Think 'Internal Affairs'." He explained that every time an officer discharged their weapon in the course of a call, there was an investigation to ensure proper procedures were followed and excessive force wasn't a factor. Its purpose was to protect the officer as much as the public, or so they said.

Bridget looked across the table at him. "Have you ever been investigated?" she asked.

He shrugged a shoulder. "I've been interviewed, questioned," he said, "but, I've never had to take down a subject like that." His expression was unreadable, but Bridget suspected there was more he wasn't telling her.

"How do you usually take them down?"

"With a computer," he smirked a little.

Bridget laughed and he actually smiled, though it wasn't anything like the smile he'd had in Jamaica. Still, the corners of his mouth pointed upward instead of downward and it gave her hope that he had turned the corner on his melancholy.

"Oh yeah, I remember; you _were_ kind of a geek in high school!" she teased him.

"Just a little," agreed Spike.

"So, are you your team's techno master?" she asked.

"Pretty much," answered Spike. "I spend a lot of time in the command truck doing background checks, disabling security systems, watching security video, that sort of thing."

Bridget caught herself before adding in her head, '_When you're not defusing bombs_.'

They talked a little more with Spike telling her about Wordy, Jules, Ed and the Sarge. He spoke of the guilt he felt about snapping at Wordy after he had injured his hand. Thankfully, he didn't dwell on it, though, and he even chuckled when he told her about the time Wordy put pepper spray in his mask and gear to haze him when he joined the team. The more he talked, the more his tension seemed to melt away.

When he got to Ed though, a little bit of the tension came seeping back in. His shoulder muscles tightened almost imperceptibly and his lips pursed ever so slightly. He explained that he, Wordy and Sam had been waiting for news about Ed when she had walked by the ER waiting room.

"What happened to him?" asked Bridget.

"He was shot," he hesitated before continuing. "He was on his way here to the hospital. His wife is in labor upstairs," he told her.

"Oh, wow," she said. "He wasn't on duty?"

Spike shook his head. "We were done for the day," he said. "Between requalification exercises, psych evaluations and weapon recertification, we were all pretty wiped. I guess Ed figured out it was the boss that brought in the outside psychologist." A haunted look passed through his eyes and Bridget got the feeling that his psych evaluation had not gone particularly well. "The Sarge says it was a case of road rage.

"Ed wasn't too happy when he left."

"I take it the psych evaluation was painful?" asked Bridget

"You could say that," Spike replied, a faraway look in his eyes.

"What did the psychologist say, if you don't mind my asking?" Bridget asked.

Spike was silent for a few more minutes, seemingly lost in thought. When she was just about to ask him something else, he answered, "He went right for the jugular. He went right for the incident that day." He shook his head.

Bridget sensed he was talking about Lew again. She had hoped he was ready to move on from that, but maybe not. If he were still fixated on what happened to Lew, she would just have to help him as best she could.

Then again, he didn't seem nearly as upset as he had when she first saw him in the ER waiting room. Maybe it was something else this time. She wondered what else the psychologist had brought up.

"Is that what had you so upset earlier?" she asked him.

Spike shrugged, "It's part of it," he answered. Bridget noticed that his shoulders had hunched a bit more and saw that the lines of tension had returned around his eyes and mouth.

She leaned back, trying to seem less intrusive, less threatening and thus put him more at ease. "What else is bothering you?"

He looked at her for a long moment, debating whether to tell her the rest or not. He wasn't sure how much she might already know. He tried to remember what they had talked about during those four days they had spent together in Jamaica. Spike was pretty sure she'd asked about his family. It was a normal question. Bridget had dated his next-oldest brother's best friend for a while in high school, and she had at least known his other brother and sister who had been in high school with them. She had been at the Scarlatti home often enough when she was dating Marco's friend Joey. So, it would make sense for her to ask about his parents and siblings.

Trouble was, he couldn't remember how much he'd told her. However, the mere thought of the current situation with his father caused his chest to tighten again and he found it suddenly difficult to breathe. Bridget noted the pained look in his eyes and the fact that his breathing quickly became much shallower. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was having an asthma attack; except as far as she knew, he had never had asthma, or any other respiratory problems.

'_Maybe not asthma_,' she thought to herself, '_maybe panic_?' Bridget wasn't sure. The signs were there, but they were subtle. His face reddened slightly as if he was blushing and his hands were shaking just a little. If it was a panic attack, it seemed to be a minor one.

"Mike?" she asked him, "Are you all right?"

Spike shook his head as he concentrated on taking deeper breaths.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Again, he shook his head. "It's nothing," he assured her.

Bridget's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs and she looked at him with obvious disbelief. "You know," she said, "I don't think I'm buying that."

"How about 'I don't to talk about it,' then?" asked Spike.

She nodded. "Okay, that I'll buy," she smiled reassuringly, trying to lighten his mood again, even if only a little.

"But, Mike," she leaned in and took his hand again as the smile disappeared and she looked at him in all seriousness, "I want you to know that I'm here. If you ever want to talk, about anything at all," she looked him directly in the eyes, "I'm here. Okay?" She waited until he nodded before releasing his hand.

Spike decided he needed to change the subject so he started asking questions about her job at the hospital. The distraction worked and as she spoke, he felt his chest loosen and soon he was able to breathe normally again.

Bridget told him about being a nurse and before long, they were trading stories about some of the more colorful characters they had encountered on the job, playing a little game of one-upmanship until the janitor came back and finally kicked them out. Bridget just shook her head at the nearly full cup of now ice-cold soup they left behind. _So much for getting him to eat something_, she thought to herself.

Still, overall, she'd have to count the time a success. Mike seemed to have stepped back from the ledge he had been perched on. At least he had been able to hold a conversation and had even smiled once or twice. That had to be a good sign, she thought.

* * *

When Greg and Clark arrived back upstairs in the maternity ward, they found Sophie asleep and her parents sitting in the room with Jules and Shelley. The four visitors sat in awkward silence as the well-dressed older couple traded furtive and disdainful glances at the two younger women. Obviously, Sophie's parents shared their daughter's disapprobation for all things SRU.

Clark entered the room cautiously, not wanting to wake his mother. As he did so, his grandfather rose to greet him, extending his hand, which the boy took. After a brief handshake, his grandfather pulled Clark into an embrace. He whispered words of encouragement to Clark, letting the teenager know he was proud of how well he had taken care of his mother. He moved to release the boy, but softly patted his back when Clark continued to hold on to him for a moment longer. When he finally did release his grip, Clark stepped back, nodded his thanks and bent to give his grandmother a hug as well.

Sophie's father looked at Greg with unabashed scorn, but said nothing. He knew the officer was his son-in-law's boss and one of Ed's best friends, but that didn't mean he had to like the man. He certainly didn't appreciate that Ed had been kept so busy at work, training for work and going in to work on his days off that he had not been there for his daughter when she'd needed her husband the most. Clearly, Sergeant Parker was one of the main reasons for that. Oh sure, Ed could have taken leave to care for his wife, but the elder gentleman had no doubt that Greg Parker would have pressured him into staying to keep up the team dynamic. Sophie had mentioned some time ago that Team One had the highest success rate of all the SRU teams. They were the best of the best. Any boss would want to keep that going as long as possible and would guard against any change in the team dynamic that could threaten that success.

Jules and Shelley had stood as Clark entered the room, but waited to speak until he finished greeting his grandparents. Jules wiped her hands on her slacks and looked at Greg.

"Did you get to see Ed?" she asked, her worry ringing clear in her voice. "How's he doing?"

"Yeah, we saw him," Clark answered before Greg had a chance to. "He's awake and talking, so that's good, right?" he looked at the sergeant for confirmation.

"What happened to your father?" Clark's grandfather asked sharply, glaring at Parker. Sophie had been asleep when they arrived and he had assumed that his son-in-law was not there because he was working.

Parker took a step closer, replying, "He was shot."

Before he could continue, Clark's grandfather interrupted. "Shot?" he asked, "while on duty?" he assumed, noting that Parker was still in uniform.

Parker shook his head. "Actually, he was on his way here," he told Sophie's parents. "It was a case of road rage," he clarified.

"Road rage?"

"Yes, sir," explained Greg. "According to witnesses, Ed was speeding, weaving in an out of traffic. He stopped at a traffic light and when the light changed, the car in front didn't move. Ed didn't have the room to back up and go around. He got out of his car and the other driver did the same. Ed ordered the other driver to move his vehicle and the man appeared to comply, but instead he pulled out a gun and shot Ed."

Sophie's father asked, "So, was he in uniform, then? I assume so," he continued without waiting for an answer, "since you said he 'ordered' the other driver to move. Such an order would carry more weight if he were in uniform."

He shook his head disapprovingly, but refrained from saying anything more. As much as he hated his son-in-law's propensity to throw his weight around, he would not disparage the man in front of his grandson. The boy would find out on his own soon enough the kind of man his father was. There was no need for him to try to influence his opinion one way or the other.

Greg nodded, "Yes, he was in uniform. He had to complete his psychological evaluation before he could leave and when he was done, he was in a hurry to get here," he explained.

Greg knew about Sophie's ultimatum. Ed had told him Sophie wanted him to quit the SRU. He didn't want to assume, but it seemed as if Sophie had told her parents about it as well and her father was assuming he had chosen SRU over his family. Greg knew the decision had been weighing heavily on his friend's mind, but as far as he knew, Ed hadn't yet decided. Knowing Ed, he was frantically trying to come up with some kind of compromise that would make Sophie happy, but allow him to stay on the team. Still, it wasn't his place to say anything and he'd already ticked off his friend by telling Toth about Ed and Sophie's separation.

In the end, he said nothing to Sophie's parents and since visiting hours were long over, they all left the room. Clark went with his grandparents while Jules, Shelley and Greg went back to the ER waiting room. They had expected to find Sam and Wordy at least, but found they were gone. Greg checked with the person at the information desk and found that Ed had been moved to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit so they went up there to find not only Sam and Wordy, but Spike and Bridget as well.

Spike sat next to Bridget in the small waiting room. Sam and Wordy sat across from them and the four seemed to be having a quiet conversation as the rest of them entered. Wordy spied his wife and stood to greet her with a hug and a quick kiss before moving over one seat to allow Jules to sit next to Sam. Greg sat down next to Spike and took a good look at him. Though obviously tired, he seemed much calmer and much more aware of things than he had when he'd first arrived.

Greg was grateful that Bridget had happened by when she had and that she had taken such an interest in Spike. He wasn't truly certain anyone on the team could have had the same effect on the young man, even himself. In fact, it wouldn't have surprised him if, by simply trying to get him to talk, they had sent him right over the edge they were trying to talk him down from.

Spike felt his boss' eyes on him, glanced over, and nodded, offering a slight smile. Greg smiled and nodded back, heartened to see the clear, focused eyes. It seemed as if a weight had been lifted from the young man's shoulders and Greg breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned forward and caught Bridget's eye and, nodding slightly toward Spike, he mouthed the words 'Thank you."

* * *

**A/N**: This seems like a good place to stop for now. Things are going to ramp up again next chapter, though! Thanks for reading and as always, please feel free to leave a comment or two, i.e., review. _** - Psy**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: No, sadly, I still don't own Flashpoint.

**A/N**: Thanks again to everyone for reading my little tale of pain and woe! This chapter is all Spike and the next chapter might be as well. BTW, I don't speak any Italian, so I used Yahoo's Babel Fish to translate most of it. Please accept my apologies if it's not conversational Italian or what would actually be spoken. I'm not posting the English translation because I want to keep the effect for the reader the same as for the rest of the team. It's your choice if you want to look it up or wait to find out with the rest of the team. As always, be sure to let me know what you think.

* * *

Mike "Spike" Scarlatti glanced up at the clock on the opposite wall of the waiting room and did a double take. '_1:30AM?_' he thought to himself. '_Have we really been here that long?_' He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and without thinking turned it on. It took a couple of minutes to start up, but he noted with raised eyebrows that it was actually right around 12:30AM, not quite as bad as he'd thought, but still very late.

Spike had introduced Bridget to Greg, Jules and Shelley when they arrived, mentioning that they had known each other in high school and had run into each other again the year before. Shelley had playfully hinted that maybe fate was trying to tell the two of them something if they kept running into each other. Jules had thought of mentioning her friend Steve, and how that hadn't really worked out, but then thought better of it when she thought of Sam.

Greg and Jules were relieved to see that Spike was talking and that he seemed almost relaxed. They were the only ones in the CICU waiting room and Spike looked at each of them, noting the tired eyes and faces. Shelley Wordsworth's head rested on her husband's shoulder while his head rested on hers. Both had closed their eyes and for all Spike knew, had fallen asleep.

At the moment, Jules was filling in Spike, Sam and Greg on Sophie's and the baby's condition, telling them that the doctor was slowing the delivery as much as possible in order to let the drugs work on the baby's developing lungs. Wordy was sort of listening to Jules, but mostly was just trying to relax a little bit. He knew it was getting late and with Sophie sleeping and Ed in CICU where they couldn't visit with him, it was pointless to stay here at the hospital. He was just about to suggest they call it a night when they all heard the Godfather theme music suddenly start playing.

The others looked around and Spike jumped a little at the sound before quickly fishing his cell phone back out of his pocket again. He looked at the caller ID, a confused expression on his face as he read the name. Shaking his head, he hit the button to take the call and put the phone to his ear. Before he could say a word, though, the voice on the other end started in on him, speaking rapidly in a combination of English and Italian and his confusion quickly turned to tension with each passing second. He stood up and started walking to the other side of the room, speaking as he moved.

"What?" he said, sounding annoyed. "I had my phone turned off." He listened briefly before responding again. "Why, what's going on?"

Listening again, he glanced quickly back at the others, seeing that they were watching him with interest. When he spoke into the phone again, the tone was more urgent. "Che cosa significano è sprofondato?"

The others shared curious looks with each other at the language. While it made sense that Spike would know Italian, he almost never spoke it around them, and never more than just a word or two. He usually just spoke English. What concerned them, though, was that their friend sounded worried.

"È giusto?" they heard him say.

The SRU members all turned to look at Bridget who was watching Spike with the same concern that they all felt.

Wordy only half-jokingly asked the question that was on all of their minds. "Bridget, you don't happen to speak Italian, do you?"

Bridget shook her head, never taking her eyes off the man on the other side of the room. She stood up and took a hesitant step toward him. Spike had turned to look back at her; she could see fear in his huge doe-like eyes, and that the color had drained from his face.

"Quale ospedale?" Spike didn't take his eyes off Bridget as he listened to the voice on other end answer his question and then continue speaking.

After a moment, Spike's response to whatever had been said was loud and incredulous. "What?" His free arm rose in disbelief. "Come è il mio difetto?"

The others watched and waited.

"La mia responsa…?" he stopped mid-word, closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment on controlling his breathing. The others couldn't really tell, but he had begun to shake again, this time with anger, and the ruddy color had returned to his face. His voice started out low, but as he spoke, the volume grew until he was practically screaming into the phone.

"Sono ammalato e stanco di voi che lo incolpano di sempre tutto che vada male! Non tutto è il mio difetto! Braggiole!" He had taken the phone from his ear and bellowed the last word straight into the speaker. His face twisted with rage, he then turned to his left and threw the device as hard as he could against the wall where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

Bridget, Shelley and Jules all jumped a little when the phone hit the wall. They all looked at Spike in stunned silence, shock written all over their faces. None of them had ever seen their friend so enraged. Even Greg was utterly flabbergasted. They all looked as if they thought perhaps Spike had been abducted by aliens and replaced with this violent pod person they didn't recognize.

Spike stood there, eyes closed and panting slightly. When he opened them again, he realized that everyone was looking at him with a mixture of shock and concern. Unable to look any of them in the eye, he lowered his head.

Bridget walked over to him, but before she could do anything, Spike mumbled, "I have to go," and he turned away. She grabbed him by the arm and held him back.

"Mike?" she asked, "What's wrong?"

Spike just shook his head. "I have to go," he repeated, louder this time.

Greg stood and said, "Spike, I don't think that's such a good idea." Given the state of mind he had arrived at the hospital in, not to mention his current state of mind, he was worried the young man would drive carelessly. "Why don't you let one of us give you a ride," he suggested.

Wordy stood up and with a questioning look at his wife said, "I'll give you a ride, Spike. I can take you wherever you need to go." Shelley nodded her agreement. He had told her what had happened on the obstacle course and how Spike blamed him for hurting his hand. She knew her husband felt the need to make it up to his teammate.

Sam and Jules had both chimed in with identical offers and Parker was once again was filled with a sense of paternal pride at how his team was willing to do whatever it took to take care of each other.

Spike shook his head again. "No. I'm all right. Thanks, though, guys." He again moved to leave and Bridget wrapped her arms around him and enveloped him in a warm hug.

"Maybe they're right," she whispered into his ear as she traced slow circles across his back. "Maybe you should let someone drive you."

Spike closed his eyes. He appreciated his friends' concern, he really did. But, he had to leave now and he didn't want to drag any of them into his family's squabbles. It was bad enough that his boss now knew of his feud with his father. He didn't think he could face the rest of the team if they knew.

Spike had always tried to keep his personal life just that, personal. He compartmentalized, kept his professional life separate as much as possible from his private life. Lew had been the only one on the team who had known about the tension he dealt with at home. And, Oliver MacCoy was the only other cop he'd ever told and the only reason he'd told them was because they had figured out that something was wrong, they just didn't know what, and they had confronted him about it. No, he wasn't going to let his guard down again. He could handle it on his own, just like he always did. Of course, he was ignoring the fact that everyone needs someone else to lean on when things get to be too much. In the last year, he had lost the only two people he could turn to. On some level, he knew he would have to let someone else in or he would self-destruct. But, right now, all he wanted to do was get away.

He stood there for a moment, breathing in Bridget's scent, his thoughts a swirling mess again. Funny how a single phone call from precisely the wrong person with precisely the wrong news could send you into another tailspin. The words of his sergeant popped into his head just then, "_Time and place, let's focus._" Well, the time was now and the place was not here.

He put his hands on Bridget's arms and tried to step out of the embrace. "Bridget," he said softly, "I've got to go."

Instead of letting him go, however, she just held him tighter, shifting slightly to her right and rocking him back and forth a little as she felt his arms encircle her again and he rested his head against hers. After a moment like this, he lifted his head and let go of her. This time, she let him go when he stepped back.

She looked up at him and he could clearly see the worry in her eyes. "Call me?" she asked.

Spike nodded, "I'll call you later," he said. She made him promise and he did. Without looking at the others, he turned and left the waiting room, heading for the stairs.

Greg looked at Bridget dubiously. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, letting him go like that," he said as he shook his head.

Bridget, on the other hand, was smirking at all of them. "Oh," she said impishly, "he's not going anywhere," she assured them.

They all looked at her confused, asking nearly in unison, "Why not?"

Her smile widened and she raised her left hand to reveal a set of keys. "Because," she told them, "I took his keys."

Greg's eyebrows inched up. "You took his keys?" he asked. "When did you get his keys?"

Bridget laughed, "When I gave him the hug. I distracted him just enough to get his keys out of his pocket." They just looked at her, still a bit confused.

"Okay," she explained, "when I was a kid, a community theatre group I was in did '_Oliver Twist_' and I became fascinated with the Artful Dodger. I decided to learn how to pick pockets and actually got pretty good at it," she continued. "Did it to my friends in high school all the time, you know, just to mess with them," she smiled.

The others just shook their heads and sat back down, waiting for their friend to come back after realizing he had no keys. They each decided that they would not let Spike drive himself at this point. One of them would give him a ride whether he wanted it or not.

It wasn't until Spike approached his car that he reached into his pocket for his keys, only to come up empty-handed. He frantically checked every pocket and then walked around to the passenger side and looked into the car to see if maybe he had locked them inside. They weren't in the ignition or on the seat so he walked back to the driver side and peered in at the floor. But, it was too dark in the dim parking garage to see if he'd dropped them. He checked the ground around and under the car as well as the adjacent spots and even started to wonder if he'd brought a jacket and, if so, where'd he put it?

Spike's tension was increasing with each passing minute and it only added to the anxiety and agitation brought on by the phone call. He started kicking the car and slammed his fist down on the roof, setting off the alarm, which only served to pile on yet another level of aggravation. He let out a stream of English-laced-with-Italian profanity as he took his frustrations out on the car.

Unfortunately, a hospital security guard patrolling the garage had heard the car alarm go off and was making his way over to check it out. He approached the distraught individual carefully, ordering him to step away from the vehicle.

Spike stopped beating on the car and turned to face him. He knew what it must look like to the guard, so he took a few deep breaths to try to calm down and held up his hands in a defensive gesture, trying to defuse the situation.

"Look, I'm not trying to steal the car, okay?" he said. "It's **my** car. I just can't find my damn keys," he explained angrily. "It's been really long, really crappy day and I just want to get out of here, okay?" Spike pleaded with the guard.

"That's your car?" asked the guard skeptically.

Spike nodded, "Yeah, it's my car."

The guard looked at him suspiciously and with one hand on his taser said, "I'm going to need to see some ID and the registration."

"Fine," Spike replied as he reached carefully into his back pocket. "They're in my wallet." He slowly pulled out his wallet, retrieved his driver's license, and handed it to the guard who looked closely at it, shining his flashlight back and forth between the ID and Spike's face a few times. Satisfied, he handed the ID back to Spike and asked again for the car registration.

Spike was now hurriedly searching every pocket of the wallet. When he came up empty, he looked up as he dropped his arms down to his sides. It took every ounce of self-control he had left to refrain from throwing the wallet on the ground. The alarm was still blaring and getting on his last nerve.

"It's not here," he admitted, looking at the car as though he wanted to kill it. "It's in the glove compartment. Damn it!" He threw his hands up and cursed before closing his eyes and shaking his head. '_This is great,_' he thought to himself. '_Just great! This is all I need. First, I lose my keys and now this rent-a-cop's going to detain me for trying to steal my own damn car!_' He tried to take a couple of deep breaths before deciding to play the 'professional courtesy' card.

"Look," he said, "I'm a cop. SRU. My badge number is 9496. You can call SRU headquarters to verify." He could see the guard wasn't buying it. He tried another tack. "Okay, look, if you've got a slim-jim, you can get into my car and I can get the registration for you."

The guard just looked at him. Spike was starting to get angry again. He took a step forward. "Come on!" he yelled, glaring at the security guard. "Give me a break here, will ya?"

"Sir, you need to stay where you are!" warned the guard.

Spike was so tired and wired at the same time, he completely forgot that his commanding officer was sitting in the CICU waiting room, in uniform, and all they had to do was go up there and talk to him.

"Well? Are you gonna do something or what?" he shouted and took another angry step toward the guard who drew his taser and pulled the trigger. Two ECD probes hit Spike in the lower chest, the electrical current immediately immobilizing him. He yelled in pain and dropped first to his knees, then to the ground, his entire body convulsing even after the 30-second burst stopped. The guard quickly turned Spike over on his stomach and pulled his hands behind his back, securing them with handcuffs.

* * *

**A/N**: This seems like a good place to stop for now. Poor Spike, he did seem to be on the mend for a little while, didn't he? I'm so evil! The good news is, he might end up with a real girlfriend by the time I get through with him…at least in my little world… where the sky is purple. _**- Psy**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclamer**: I still don't own Flashpoint.

**Author's Note**: This one's a little long, but I hope you like it. There's a little more about Spike's family in here, though I didn't use any Italian; English is just easier. A word of warning, though, there is some minor cursing in this one. Let me know what you think!

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_Two ECD probes hit Spike in the lower chest, the electrical current immediately immobilizing him. He yelled in pain and dropped first to his knees, then to the ground, his entire body convulsing even after the 30-second burst stopped. The guard quickly turned Spike over onto his stomach and pulled his hands behind his back, securing them with handcuffs. _

* * *

Once the pain of being tased subsided, the anger returned full-force and Spike let out another stream of profanity, letting the guard know just what he thought of the man's parentage, not to mention sexual preferences, and even suggesting the man try to do something Spike knew was anatomically impossible.

It wasn't until they were getting into an elevator on their way to the security office that Spike calmed down enough to think of the rest of the team.

"Wait!" his face brightened a little as he thought of the boss. "My sergeant is in the CICU waiting room! He can vouch for me!" Spike looked at the guard who just shook his head.

"Come on, man," he whined. "I swear to you, I wasn't trying to steal that car. It's my own car!" He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He told the guard about Ed getting shot, about Sophie, the baby, and the team waiting all night at the hospital for news. As he stood there in the elevator, his eyes still closed, Spike felt the last of his energy seep out of him. Part of him no longer cared what happened to him. He just wanted the day to be over so he could go home and go to sleep.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit and the guard led Spike over to the waiting room. Through the windows, the guard saw a police officer in tactical gear along with two other men and three women. As soon as he saw the rest of his team, Spike let out a relieved "thank you" to the security guard.

Both Bridget and Greg, who were facing the windows, jumped up as soon as they saw the security guard leading Spike toward the room.

When she saw Spike was in handcuffs, Bridget groaned, "Oh no! Mike!"

The others turned to see what she was looking at. Spike looked almost asleep on his feet. His eyes kept blinking heavily and he was beginning to sway again.

The guard looked at Parker. "Sir, do you know this man?" he asked.

Greg nodded, "Yeah, he's Constable, First Class, Michelangelo Scarlatti, Police Strategic Response Unit. He's my computer and explosives tech," he answered as he approached his officer. "What did you do, Spike?" he asked quietly. Spike just looked down and shook his head.

"He was assaulting a vehicle in the parking garage, sir," the guard informed him. "He said it was his car, but he couldn't produce the registration. Said it was in the car and that he lost his keys."

"Assaulting a vehicle?" asked Jules.

"So you had to 'cuff him?" Wordy asked hotly, "Because he didn't have the registration on him?"

"No, sir," insisted the guard. "I had to handcuff him because he approached me in a threatening manner."

"Didn't have to tase me!" Spike muttered bitterly, his head still lowered.

"Wait! You tased him?" asked Bridget. With another groan, she buried her face in her hands when the guard answered in the affirmative. "Mike," she spoke softly, "I am so, so sorry!"

She looked up at the guard. "This is all my fault," she said before turning to Spike. "I took your keys, Mike. I am so sorry! I just didn't want you to drive; you were so upset!" she explained desperately. Spike just shook his head.

Satisfied that they were telling him the truth, the guard removed the handcuffs and returned Spike's wallet to him before leaving.

Bridget stood in front of Spike, apologizing profusely and begging his forgiveness. When he didn't say anything, she asked him, "Do you hate me?"

Spike just shook his head, "I just… want… to go," he whispered.

"Okay, Spike," Greg said, "but you're going to have to let someone drive you." To his surprise, the young man didn't protest. Spike just nodded, his eyes still on the floor in front of him.

Before anyone else could say anything, Bridget took Spike's arm and said, "I'll take him home."

They said their goodbyes, though Spike was silent. The others couldn't tell if it was because he was exhausted or if he had sunk into another dark mood. They all hoped it was the former.

As Bridget led their friend toward the elevators, Greg addressed the rest of the group. "I think we can call it a night," he said.

Bridget had checked on Ed while they waited for Spike to return and had reported that the team leader was stable and resting. Both he and Sophie were in good hands and there was nothing any of them could do at this point except wait and pray. The group gathered their things and followed the other two to the elevators. They all rode in silence and when they reached the first floor, the group started walking toward the parking garage on the other side of the hospital. Bridget motioned for Spike to follow her as she turned down one of the intersecting hallways they passed, explaining that she needed to get her jacket and purse from her locker. She waved at the others and she and Spike made their way to the employee locker rooms where Bridget quickly retrieved her things.

Spike had been silent the entire time it had taken them to get to his car and exit the garage. As she turned the vehicle southward on University, Bridget began to worry that her stupid stunt had caused some sort of emotional relapse. She tried to engage him in conversation again.

"So, are you still living at home in Woodbridge?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she glanced over at him. His head was tilted back against the headrest and his eyes were closed. She couldn't tell if he was asleep, so she tried again, this time a little louder.

"Mike?"

"Hmm?" he grunted.

"What do you think, Gardiner to 27 to 427? That'll get us to Woodbridge, right?" Bridget lived closer to downtown on the east side now and usually took the bus to and from work. It had been a while since she had had to drive out that way.

Spike tried to think. "Take the Gardiner to either Keele or 27 and from there to the 400. Get off at Finch. That's where I have to go." He was back to speaking with little or no inflection, which worried Bridget, but she reminded herself that he was exhausted and that that could easily be the cause as well. She was a little surprised at the destination, though. She thought he was still living with his parents.

"I didn't know you moved out," she said. "How did your parents take it?" Bridget remembered thinking it a little odd that Mike's oldest brother had moved back into the family home after graduating from university. She, Mike and Marco had still been in high school at the time and Marco had explained that in Italy it was customary that the kids lived at home until they got married. Mr. and Mrs. Scarlatti were from the old country and still held to many of the old world traditions. Apparently, they expected their children to as well.

"Didn't move out," answered Spike without opening his eyes.

"Okay," Bridget was confused, "then where are we going?" she asked.

"Humber River Hospital."

Bridget's heart dropped. "The phone call," she said, swallowing hard. "Who's in the hospital?" she asked hesitantly. Mike was silent for several minutes.

"Mike?" asked Bridget, "Who is in Humber River Hospital?" When he still didn't answer, she looked over at him. His eyes were squinted shut and he looked like he was having another panic attack. She put her hand on his leg and gave it a light squeeze.

She was just about to ask again, when he finally answered in a strained voice, barely above a whisper, "My father."

* * *

Jules pulled her Jeep up in front of Sam's apartment building, but neither made a move to get out when she turned off the engine. Both were exhausted, the day's events having drained them emotionally as well as physically. They sat there without speaking, not really looking at each other for a few minutes.

"Helluva day, huh?" Sam asked.

"Yep," answered Jules. "You think Ed's going to be okay?" she asked softly.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, Ed'll make it. I think he's more worried about his family." He paused.

"Do you think he'll come back to the team?" he asked.

Jules slowly shook her head. "I don't know, Sam. I think if I was in his shoes, I just might have to do whatever Sophie wanted me to." She looked over at her partner. "Especially now, after being shot and the problems with the baby. If he does come back," she said, "it won't be anytime soon."

"Yeah, you're right," he agreed. They were silent again for several more minutes.

"You think Spike's going to be okay?" asked Jules, finally breaking the silence. She was worried about their friend. He had seemed okay at HQ, if a little aloof, after his psych evaluation, then again, so had the rest of them. She figured whatever was going on with him must have happened after he'd left.

Sam thought for a moment. "I sure hope so. It looked like Bridget might have gotten him talking at least a little," he replied. "I wonder what that phone call was all about, though."

"Yeah," Jules agreed, "who was it and what did they say to make him so mad? I've never seen him even close to being that angry."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "He was speaking Italian, at least I think it was Italian, maybe it was family." That made sense to Sam. There wasn't much at work or that his friends would say or do that could make him that angry. But, boy, could his father get him going. To Sam's recollection, though, Spike had never mentioned anything about anyone in his family that would lead to that kind of outburst. Sam had always assumed Spike got along fine with his family. After all, he was still living with his parents. Why would he still be living at home if he didn't get along with them? It wasn't like Spike couldn't afford his own place.

Sam stretched, stifling a yawn. He looked over at his ex-girlfriend, now just a colleague. "You coming up?" he asked.

She hesitated before shaking her head. "No, I should get going home," she said.

"Come on, Jules," he entreated, "it's really late, or really early, depending on your point of view. Why don't you stay here tonight." When she just tilted her head slightly before shaking it again, he said, "You can have the bed. I'll take the sofa."

Jules smiled at the thought and, glancing at him said, "No, you can have the bed. I'll take the sofa." She hit him lightly in the arm before unbuckling her seat belt. "Can't have you complaining about your back hurting tomorrow, can we?" she teased.

Sam just smiled and chuckled. "Fine. You take the sofa then. At least your feet won't hang off the end of it." With that, they got out and headed up to the apartment.

* * *

Wordy walked his wife to her car and she drove him to where he had parked his. He followed her home, not bothering to turn on the radio. Normally, if he were out driving this late he would need the radio on to help keep himself awake. But, tonight, his thoughts were going a mile a minute. He was worried about Ed and Sophie, not to mention their unborn daughter. He couldn't imagine Shelley going through such a difficult delivery. All three of his girls were born with almost no issues. What would he do if there were a chance he could lose a baby? He didn't even want to think about it.

Then there was the idea of losing Ed. What would Sophie and Clark do then? Oh sure, they lived with that possibility every day already, but it's a fairly abstract concept until it actually happens. What would Shelley and the girls do if anything happened to him? He had done everything he could to ensure they would be taken care of if, God forbid, something were to happen. He thought of his psych evaluation and the concern Toth had pointed out about his shaky hand and declining ability on the shooting range. He knew he needed to see a doctor about it, but honestly, he was scared of what they might find. What was he going to do if he couldn't be a cop anymore? He wasn't kidding when he had told Spike that the team was the only place he belonged. It was true. If he couldn't stay with the SRU because of a medical condition, he sure couldn't go back to being a beat cop. His career might well be over, sooner rather than later, and he had no idea what he would do without it. Law enforcement was all he knew. How would he provide for his family if that was taken away?

Before he knew it, they were pulling into their driveway. It was far too late to call Shelley's folks, so they went inside and went straight to bed. As he sat on the edge of the bed peeling off his socks, exhaustion finally hit him and he finished getting ready for bed on autopilot. For the first time in a long time, despite the questions swirling around in his mind, Wordy was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Bridget did a double take and had to concentrate on keeping her eyes on the road. "Your father?" she asked. "What happened?"

"I don't really know," answered Spike. "All Marco said was that he collapsed and my mother had to call 911 for an ambulance."

_Well, that explains the phone call_, Bridget thought to herself. She remembered that Mike and Marco had not been close in high school. Marco had hated that Mike, who was a year-and-a-half younger, was in the same grade and that he did better than Marco in every subject except phys ed, often without even trying. Marco had teased his younger brother mercilessly, calling him a freak every chance he got, out of earshot of their parents, of course. Bridget doubted Mr. and Mrs. Scarlatti would have tolerated the verbal abuse if they had witnessed it. And, the two boys had gotten into more than their share of fistfights. Marco, being almost a full head taller and much heavier than Mike, usually won. He was the one bully Mike couldn't get away from and he was one of the reasons Bridget had broken up with Joey Cordone in grade 11. Joey was always hanging out with Marco and while Bridget liked the rest of the Scarlatti's, she couldn't stand Marco.

"That's all he said?" she asked. She was trying to figure out why Mike had been so angry. Just learning that his father was in the hospital didn't seem to be enough of a reason to her.

"He also said it was my fault," replied Spike.

"Wait, what?" asked Bridget incredulously, "how is it your fault that your father collapsed?"

"I don't know," he answered wearily, "but, apparently it is. Just ask Marco."

Bridget shook her head. "He's not still living at home is he?" she asked.

"No," answered Spike. "He got married right before I joined SRU about four years ago."

_Thank God for small favors_, she thought. They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived at the hospital, they pleaded with the woman at the information desk who refused to give them the room number, insisting they would have to come back during visiting hours. Spike finally pulled out his badge, which he had retrieved from the glove compartment. Claiming it was a police matter, he convinced the woman to give them the information and they made their way to the elevators and up to the fourth floor.

They found two of Spike's brothers in a waiting area in the Oncology ward. Marco was sitting with his back to the corridor. He appeared to be playing a video game on his iPod as he listened to music. Spike's oldest brother, Vito, was sitting opposite him against the far wall. He was leaning back and resting his head on the wall behind him.

His heart pounding in his chest, Spike approached his oldest brother, calling out to him and ignoring Marco.

"Vito!" he said anxiously, "What happened?"

At the sound of his voice, Marco jumped up and stepped in front of Spike. "Well, look who finally decided to show up! Glad you could make it, Mikey," he said derisively.

Spike glanced at Marco for a split second before returning his gaze to his other brother. "Vito? What happened?" he repeated while trying to step around Marco.

Marco wasn't about to let him by, though, and he jabbed a finger into Spike's chest. "Where the hell were you?" he asked.

Spike swatted Marco's hand away, glaring at him as he forced his way past to stand in front of Vito who had stood up to greet him. Vito Scarlatti took his youngest brother by the shoulders and gave him two quick pecks, one on each cheek, before pulling him into a hug.

"Mikey," he said, patting his brother on the back. "Mama's been worried about you." He released Spike and took a good, close look at him. "And, with good reason, I'd say. You look like crap," Vito told him.

"Rough day," shrugged Spike.

Vito glanced over Spike's shoulder and saw Bridget. "And, who do we have here?" he asked. He motioned Marco to step aside. "Marco! Manners," he admonished.

Looking at Bridget he said, "You went to high school with these two schmucks, didn't you?"

"Vito, this is Bridget Sullivan," Spike introduced them. "And, yes, she went to high school with me and Marco."

Vito smiled at her and waved her closer. Marco leered at her as she stepped past him and she responded with a sneer. She gave Vito a warm smile, though, as he gave her the same greeting he'd given his brother.

"Hello, Vito," she said, "how have you been?"

"Vito," Spike interjected, "what happened to Pa?" He was becoming agitated.

"If you would have been home, where you were supposed to be, you'd know," said Marco.

"Shut up, Marco!" Spike spat without looking at him. He kept his eyes on Vito. "What happened?" he asked for the third time.

Marco took a step toward him, but Vito stepped in between them. He looked at Spike, his back to Marco. "Mama said that he had some sort of seizure and passed out," he explained. "The doctors don't know if it was a stroke or if the cancer spread to his brain."

Spike felt like he'd been sucker punched in the chest. All the air left his lungs and he found it hard to breathe as the information sank in.

"How is he?" he asked softly through clenched teeth.

"What do you care?" Marco asked rudely. "You're the reason he's so sick!"

"Marco!" Vito turned around to face him. "What's the matter with you?" he hissed.

Spike looked at him in shock. "**I'm** the reason he's sick?" he asked. "How the hell is it **my** fault Pa's sick?" he shouted.

"If you weren't so damn selfish, if you did what Pa wanted you to do, he wouldn't be so stressed all the time!"

Vito grabbed Marco by the shoulders and pushed him backward a few steps. "Marco! Stop it!"

"I hate to break this to you, Marco, but I did not give Pa cancer!" yelled Spike. "And, I sure as hell didn't give him any stroke or seizure!"

Bridget stepped in front of him and placed her hands high on his chest. "No, you didn't" she told him, "but you might give yourself a stroke if you don't calm down." She steered him to the other side of the room while Vito did the same with Marco.

After sending Marco in search of coffee, Vito turned back to his youngest brother. "Look, Mike, don't listen to him," he said. "None of this is your fault; we know that. Marco is just…he's Marco." He took deep breath before continuing.

"Pa's resting. The doctors say he's stable and that they're monitoring his condition," he said. "Mama's in with him. Why don't you go in and let her know you're here and that you're okay. I think right now, she's more worried about you."

Spike nodded and turned to head down the hall, but found his legs wouldn't move. He looked over at Bridget, took a deep breath and forced himself to start walking. He found his mother sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair next to the bed, an elbow propped up on the armrest and her chin resting in her hand. She stirred when she heard him enter and when she realized who it was, she jumped up and threw her arms around her son.

"Mikey!" she cried, "Oh, thank God you're all right! I was so worried about you!"

Spike held her tight, burying his face in her neck and shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mama," he told her as he held back his own tears. "I should have been there for you. I should have been home. I'm sorry!"

As soon as she realized what he was saying, she stepped back and cradled his face in her hands. "Oh no, Mikey," she said sadly, "It's not your fault. I was worried because I didn't know where you were. That's all. It's not your fault." She didn't want him blaming himself. He had always been quick to take the blame for anything that went wrong, whether he was at fault or not. He had always been the one trying to keep the peace.

She also knew he felt guilty about the falling out with his father. They all knew what Dominic Scarlatti wanted; he wanted Mike to quit the police force. It wasn't even so much that he wanted his son to work in the family business. He just wanted Mike to stop being a police officer. While she would welcome the relief from daily fear that would bring, Mrs. Scarlatti knew that being a police officer, especially as a member of the elite SRU, was something that gave her son a sense of purpose. What else could he do that would bring him that same sense of purpose and meaning? No, she couldn't ask him to quit. He had to live his own life. She knew he had to live it for himself, not for them.

"Your father will be glad you came to see him," she told him as she motioned him toward the bed. Spike wasn't sure he believed that, but he dutifully stepped forward, taking in all the tubes and wires taped to his father's arm, face and chest.

His father looked somehow smaller, thinner perhaps, and much older than Spike remembered. Had it really been just yesterday afternoon that he'd last seen him? Spike wondered. He went to take his father's hand, but stopped just short, his fingers curling into a fist before he dropped his arm back down at his side. For the umpteenth time that day, he felt the band tighten around his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized he had no idea what to do. He and his father hadn't spoken in nearly a year. What was he going to say? _Sorry I wasn't there for you, Pa, but I just couldn't deal with you not being able to stand being in the same room with me?_

Mrs. Scarlatti nearly wept as she saw her son struggle. Instead, she turned and walked into the corridor, hoping that with some privacy, her Mikey would be able to say what he needed to say, even if his father couldn't hear it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own Flashpoint, but I have a twelve-year-old I would be willing to trade for it. (Just kidding!) How about some cats? Could you use some cats? I even have one named Spike!

**Warning**: There's a hint of smut toward the end, though nothing explicit since I don't do explicit smut. Still, I raised the rating to T just to be safe.

**Author's Note**: This chapter's all about Spike. I actually had written almost twice as much, but at the end the characters decided to go in a direction I hadn't planned and I have to wrangle them back where they're supposed to be. As always, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think. - _**Psy**_

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Mike "Spike" Scarlatti stood next to his father's hospital bed listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. It was somewhat mesmerizing, the steady rhythm lulling him and nearly putting him to sleep where he stood. He tried to think of something to say, not that his father would hear him. That thought was almost his undoing as he realized he was quickly running out of time to patch things up. His father could have died tonight and Spike was keenly aware that every day he went to work could well be his last. He understood that was a big part of his father's problem with his line of work, that he could lose his son on any given day, and that he lived in fear of that eventuality. The knowledge that he was the cause of his father's anxiety ate at Spike every day. His job, and the fact that he wouldn't give it up, was the reason his father hadn't spoken to him in nearly a year. It was all his fault.

Hanging his head, he placed his hands on the bed rail and leaned on it a little. The cut on his left palm made itself known again as he pushed it down into the rail and he relished the pain. He deserved it. He deserved a lot more. _Maybe Marco was right_, he thought. Who was he to make his father suffer? It's not like he hadn't thought about quitting. He'd thought about it more than once. Just about every time he looked at Lew's plaque on the wall at HQ he thought about it. But then, he'd remember that Lew had sacrificed his own life to save his and he didn't think quitting would honor his best friend's memory. So, he stayed and the canyon between him and his father grew wider with each passing day.

Spike missed the days when he and his father had been close. Growing up, his brothers and his sister all said that he was their parents' favorite. He didn't think that was necessarily true, but he knew being the youngest brought certain advantages. He got away with things his older siblings would never have been allowed to do. Being 'gifted' also brought with it extra attention and praise that gave the impression that he was the favored one. But, when he thought about it, he remembered being envious of Vito who, as the oldest and firstborn son, received the lions share of their father's attention. Spike's sister, Ana, by virtue of being the only girl, also got attention and privileges the boys didn't. Even Dom, the middle child, the one most likely to be ignored in a multiple-child family dynamic seemed favored to some degree; he was, after all, their father's namesake. Only Marco seemed to be shortchanged in the attention department. And, he more than made up for that by acting out.

Still, he thought of the time he had spent with his father growing up and the lessons he had learned from him. He remembered his father teaching him how to throw and catch a baseball, spending countless hours with him playing catch in the yard and talking about anything and everything. Spike wasn't a natural athlete like his brothers and because of that, they never wanted to play with him. Even his sister was better at sports than he was. But, he worked at it and with his father's help, he eventually got pretty good. His father had taught him that sometimes the hardest things to learn are the most rewarding, that when you have to work hard for something you appreciate it that much more.

He remembered going to his father's work and watching how he interacted with his employees, how he managed the business and pitched in wherever help was needed. His father never asked an employee to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. Spike also remembered how his father had volunteered the family through their church to help those less fortunate. Through his actions, his father taught him that everyone, no matter who they were or what their station in life, everyone deserved respect and compassion.

It was largely because of those lessons that Spike had decided to become a police officer. He wanted to use his talents and interests to help others in a meaningful way. Still, he had no idea how to articulate those thoughts to his father. It had been so long since they had spoken that Spike didn't know where or even how to start. He had been hurt and angry the night Lew died, still reeling from the loss of his best friend. The argument with his father that night had been the last time they had spoken to each other. All Spike knew was that he didn't want those angry words to be the last ones his father heard from him.

"I'm sorry, Pa," he whispered, his hands in a white knuckled grip on the railing. "I'm sorry for causing you so much pain. I never meant to," he continued softly. He took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly.

"I know you want me to quit my job. I know you're scared that I'm going to get hurt or killed and I'm sorry. I know it must be hard for you and Mama to deal with. And, you're right." He spoke softly, slowly, pain and sadness ringing clear in his voice. "That day Lew died, it could've been me." He closed his eyes. "It should've been me, Pa." He paused, trying to figure out what he was trying to say.

"Every time I think about quitting, though, I think about something Lew said to me that day." Spike chuckled softly. "You know, I can almost hear his voice. He said, 'isn't it about saving lives?' and you know what, Pa? Lew was right, too. That's what my job is all about, saving lives. And, it's not a game. The only winners are the ones who get to go home at the end of the day."

He looked down at his father who looked peaceful as he slept. There was no trace of the pain and anger etched into his face over the last year. It was as if someone had hit a reset button. Spike longed to be able to reset the past year and get a do-over.

He started again. "I can't quit, Pa. What if every cop who had a loved one who was afraid for them quit?" he asked. "Who would be left to protect the people who can't protect themselves?"

A few moments passed with the beeping of the monitor the only sound. Spike looked around the room. "That's not the only reason I don't want to quit, Pa." Spike continued his voice still soft and slow. "I just don't think anything else I could do would give me the same satisfaction that being a police officer does, especially in the SRU." He shook his head.

"Maybe Marco's right," he said, "Maybe I am just being selfish…it's just… I know if I quit just because you want me to, I'll end up resenting you for it, and then I'll just hate myself for resenting you and I'll end up feeling even worse than I do now, if that's even possible.

"I know you're scared and you're hurt, Pa, but you don't know how much it hurts me that you can't stand to be in the same room with me and that you can't even look at me anymore." Spike's voice broke and he could no longer hold back the tears. He stood there crying as he leaned on the bedrail, his head hung low.

After a few minutes, he took another deep, hitching breath and sniffling, dried his eyes on his shirtsleeves. "Anyway," he said haltingly, "I just want you to know that I'm sorry, Pa. I wish there was something I could do to fix this. I wish I could make you understand why I can't do what you want me to do. I wish we could go back to how we were before I joined the force. But, we can't. I can't change who I am, Pa, and being a cop is part of who I am now."

He again reached for his father's hand only to stop short. His right hand hovered over his father's for a few seconds before he closed his eyes. With another deep breath, Spike took his father's hand in his and squeezed. Tears welled in eyes anew and he whispered another soft apology before letting go. He then turned and walked out of the room.

He found his mother hovering just outside the room. He wasn't sure if she heard anything he had said, but she took him in her arms and held him tight for a long moment. Stepping back, she reached up and dried the remaining tears on his cheeks with her thumbs, telling him softly that he should go home and get some sleep. He nodded and after another hug, he walked slowly back to the waiting room.

Bridget was talking with Vito when Spike returned. He was glad Marco had gone home; he wasn't sure he could deal with his brother right now. Spike glanced at the clock, surprised that it was almost 2:00AM. Vito stood and wrapped him in another embrace. He echoed their mother, telling his baby brother to go home and get some sleep.

"Si, mamma," Spike replied sleepily, making his brother smile as he stepped back and reached out to take Bridget's hand. They started toward the elevators, but Spike stopped and turned to look back at his brother.

"Aren't you going home, Vito?" he asked.

His brother shook his head. "No, I'm going to stay here with Ma," he said.

Spike nodded again and he and Bridget continued to the elevators. Once again, they made the trip to the car in silence and this time she didn't push him to talk. By the time she pulled into his driveway, Spike was asleep, his head leaning against the window.

Bridget unbuckled her seat belt and shook his shoulder gently. "Mike," she said, "you're home."

Spike didn't stir until she shook his shoulder again, then he looked around blearily, trying to figure out where he was and what he was doing there.

"Come on," said Bridget as she unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door, "I'll help you inside." She got out, walked around to his side and opened the door.

Spike got out of the car, swaying as he stood. Bridget wrapped an arm around his waist and led him to the door. Taking out his keys, she unlocked the door and led him inside, making sure to close and lock the door behind them. He directed her and she helped him to his room, turning lights on as they went.

Once in his room, she gave him a warm hug. "You get some sleep and I'll see you later, okay?" she said as she let him go and moved to step around him.

Spike held onto her, though, pulling her back to him. He held her close as he had in the CICU waiting room, burying his face in her hair. As he stood breathing in her scent again, something stirred in him that he hadn't felt in a while. Despite everything that had happened, despite the fact that he was hungry, exhausted and could barely stand, he felt desire building within. He started tracing circles on her back and shoulders with one hand while the other held her at the small of her back, pressing her hips against his.

He started placing light kisses on her neck, moving up to her ear lobe and tracing her chin. When he got to her lips, he kissed her softly, hesitantly. Bridget returned the kiss and he deepened it, his tongue gently pressing for entrance, which she granted. But, when his hands started wandering southward and he began to kiss her hungrily, she started to pull back.

"No," she tried to get his attention, but still, he held her close to him and leaned forward to take her lips again with his. He was starting to breathe heavily now she could feel how hard he was as he pressed their hips together.

"Mike, no," she protested and she tried again to pull away from him, but no matter which way she turned her head, he would follow and reclaim her lips. He was kissing her roughly now, but she was finally able to get her hands on his chest and she pushed him away from her.

"Mike! Stop! Stop it!" pleaded Bridget.

Spike released her when she pushed him away and he stood there panting for a minute as if in a trance, his eyes glassy and pupils dilated. Slowly, he seemed to come back to his senses and seeing the look on Bridget's face, he recoiled, first in fear and then, hanging his head, in shame as he realized what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quickly and repeatedly. "I'm so sorry!" He ran shaking hands through his hair as he begged her for forgiveness.

Bridget's heart jumped into her throat at the sight of his distress and she quickly took his face in her hands.

"No, Mike, baby, it's okay!" she tried to reassure him. "It's not that I don't want this," she explained. "I just don't think it's the right time. Not right now. Not like this."

She pulled his head down a little, resting his forehead on hers. "Do you remember what I said in Jamaica?" she asked him.

Spike thought back. "You said you wanted us to get to know each other better," he remembered.

"That's right," said Bridget. "I do want to be with you, Mike. I do. But, I want our first time together to be slow, deliberate and I want it to last all night," she continued. "Not comfort sex."

She looked up at him and could see the guilt behind his eyes. She shook her head and asked him, "Are you sure your mother is Italian and not Jewish?" trying to lighten the mood.

He looked at her in confusion causing Bridget to laugh. "I swear, you carry around more guilt than anyone else I know," she said before leaning in and giving him a light kiss on the lips before looking him directly in the eyes. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Michelangelo Scarlatti. You didn't do anything wrong," she assured him.

His expression went from confusion to disbelief. "Except that I almost raped you just now," he said.

"No, you didn't," Bridget shook her head. "I said 'stop' and you stopped. It might have taken a little longer for you to hit the brakes than either of us might have liked, but you did stop," she said.

"Let's try this again," she said as she enveloped him in a loose hug. "You get some sleep and I'll see you later." She released him and stepped back. This time Spike held her left hand in his right and wouldn't let it go.

"Stay?" he asked, giving her his best puppy dog look. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself." He made an 'x' over his heart and said, "Cross my heart."

Bridget looked at him for a long moment and with a playful glint in her eye she asked, "Pinkie swear?" She held up her right hand, pinkie finger extended.

Spike took her right pinkie in his and they shook on it, each of them crossing their heart with their pinkie finger before kissing it.

Bridget nodded. She turned around and started turning down the bedspread, smiling as she thought of him staring at her butt as she did so, which of course, he was. When she was done, she maneuvered him so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. She pushed him back so that his head rested on the pillows and picked up his ankles, removing his shoes before swinging his legs up and sliding his feet under the bedspread. She then went back through the house turning off the lights. She smiled at Spike's sleeping form when she got back not more than a minute later. She turned the bedroom light off and carefully made her way to the other side of the bed. Kicking off her shoes, she got into the bed and pulled the bedspread over the two of them. She, too, was asleep within minutes.

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**A/N**: Well, folks, Spike finally made it to the end of his phenomenally bad day. Let me know what you think. I'm not sure I got Spike's dialogue with his father quite right, so let me know if you think I did or not. Thanks, _**Psy**_


	10. Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: Let me check...Nope, I still don't own it.

Author's Note: More of Spike and his family in this chapter. You'll have to let me know the scene at the end works. My own dysfunctional family doesn't eat together much anymore, so I had to imagine what a Scarlatti family meal would look like. I think we've turned a corner with this one and I'm not sure how much more there will be. One more chapter, maybe two to wrap things up. Let me know if you want me to speculate on the fate of Ed, Sophie and the baby. And, as always, let me know what you think of the chapter. Thanks for reading (and reviewing), Psy

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The late afternoon sun peeked through the curtains as Spike woke groggily. He was lying on his back, fully clothed and he had no recollection of getting home, much less getting into bed. He rolled over onto his left side. His memory quickly returned as he breathed in the scents of strawberry and vanilla. He opened his eyes to find Bridget lying on her side with her back to him. She, too, was fully clothed and he smiled, snuggling closer to her and wrapping his free arm around her waist, spooning into her and hugging her close.

He closed his eyes again, murmuring, "Mmm, I could get used to this."

Bridget had been lying awake for some time listening to his breathing and it just felt natural and right when she felt his arm snake around her. She smiled, thinking that she could get used to it, too. They laid there for a while, listening to the quiet sounds of birds outside the window and the occasional car driving by, basking in the peaceful respite, until the rumbling of Spike's stomach became too loud for her to ignore.

She patted his hand, signaling him that it was time to get up. Instead of letting her go, however, Spike scooted back a little to make room and rolled her over onto her back. Propped up on his elbow, he stared at her while stroking her long, thick, dark hair, wondering what he had ever done to deserve the attention of such a kind, forgiving and beautiful woman. He had no idea what she saw in him, but he wasn't about to argue with Fate. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips before rolling onto his back. His stomach rumbled again and he realized with a start that he was famished.

Bridget patted his stomach and said, "I guess we better find something for you to eat, huh?" She got up and made her way to the bathroom before heading into the kitchen. She figured Mrs. Scarlatti kept her kitchen pretty well stocked and she was right.

Spike stretched, thinking that what he really wanted was to just stay in bed forever, preferably with Bridget beside him. He was so not looking forward to facing the days ahead. Reluctantly, he got up when Bridget exited the bathroom and he followed her lead. By the time he had finished in the bathroom he found her rummaging through the kitchen cabinets trying to find something quick and easy to cook.

He slid into the chair closest to the hallway and propped his elbows up on the table, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"There're usually leftovers in the 'fridge," he said. "They'll do."

Bridget had just opened the refrigerator when the doorbell rang. Before Spike could react, she closed the fridge door and was on her way out of the kitchen. She lightly patted his back as she passed him.

"I'll get it," she said, marveling at just how at ease she already felt here. _It's weird_, she thought, _I_ _haven't been in this house since grade 11, yet I feel perfectly at home._

She peeked through the sidelight to see who it was and opened the door to let them in.

"Hi," she said, "Any news?"

The visitor shook his head. "No changes. Eddie's still stable and Sophie's delivery is still on hold. They're all being monitored.

"How's Spike?"

Bridget shrugged. "See for yourself," she told him as she led him into the back of the house. When they got to the kitchen, she went back to looking for something to cook while Spike turned to look at their visitor and, seeing who it was, dropped his head onto his arms and groaned.

"You here to fire me?" he asked miserably without lifting his head.

Greg Parker looked at him in confusion. "What?"

Shaking his head he asked, "Spike, why would I want to fire you?"

The younger man glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know, maybe because of my psych evaluation yesterday? Or, maybe my obvious need for one with, say a 48 or 72 hour stay in a rubber room?"

Greg smiled and placed a hand on Spike's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You're not crazy, Spike," he assured the young man. "You just had a bad day. A really, really bad day. We all have 'em, buddy, and I think yesterday counts as one for the whole team," he continued.

He looked closely at his tech. "How's your father?" he asked with concern.

Spike looked at him blankly. "What?" he asked. While his boss now knew that his father was dying, Spike didn't think the man knew that his father was in the hospital. The whole reason he spoke to his brother in Italian was so the others wouldn't know what he was saying. He wasn't entirely sure why he didn't want them to know, but it was probably the same reason he hadn't said anything about his father before.

Greg looked sheepish as he answered, taking the pieces of Spike's phone out of his pocket and dropping them onto the table, "I had Team Four's tech look up your cell phone records to see who called you last night and where they called from."

Spike was shocked. He felt betrayed. How could his boss do that to him, invade his privacy like that? Seeing that the young man was getting angry, Greg hastily explained himself, throwing his hands up in a defensive gesture.

"I was worried about you, Spike," he said and pointed to what was left of the cell phone. "That is not normal behavior for you. You were all over the place emotionally yesterday and… I was worried.

"Dave told me that your brother Marco called you and that he was at Humber River Hospital. I figured it had to have something to do with your father," he explained.

Listening to his boss' explanation, Spike's anger left him. He still felt a little betrayed, but he guessed he should be grateful that the man cared enough to check up on him. He wasn't so sure his father would at this point. He was sure his father wouldn't talk to him, though.

"So, how is he?" asked Greg as he took the seat where Spike usually sat, giving the younger man a little space between them. He saw the pained look that flashed through Spike's eyes and knew his concern was well placed.

Spike shrugged, "I don't know. He either had a stroke or a tumor moved up to his brain; the doctor's aren't sure," he said.

Greg nodded. He had wondered what ailed the elder Scarlatti, but didn't want to push his young tech. Cancer seemed to make sense.

"Did you get to talk to him?" he asked.

Again, Spike shrugged. "I talked, but he was asleep, so it didn't do any good."

"Did it do you any good to get it off your chest?"

"I don't know, boss," admitted Spike. "I guess a little bit." He shook his head. "I don't know," he reiterated.

Just then they heard a key turn in the kitchen door and a moment later it opened as Spike's mother let herself in, followed closely by a slim teenage girl with long dishwater blond hair and a slightly younger-looking boy, also with a slim build and a shaggy head of light brown hair. A moment later, Spike's brother Vito walked through the door.

When she saw Spike, his mother came over to him and enveloped him in a warm hug, letting him know how glad she was to see that he was home and that he was all right. When she stood back again she noticed the older man sitting at the table. She looked at her son, a questioning look in her eyes.

Before he could respond to his mother, the two children pushed their way to him to greet him with hugs of their own.

"Uncle Mike!" they cried in unison.

"We missed you at the hospital yesterday," the girl told him.

"We wanted to wait for you, but Mum said we had to go home because we had school today," added her brother.

"That's okay," Spike told them, "It was really late by the time I got there anyway."

Knowing his kids would monopolize their uncle's time if allowed, Vito shooed them into the living room and reminded them they had homework to do.

Mrs. Scarlatti looked at Greg who stood and extended his hand to her.

"Mrs. Scarlatti, I'm Greg Parker," he introduced himself. "I work with your son Mike."

"Ah, Sergeant Parker, yes?" she asked. "You are Mike's boss?"

Greg smiled. "That's right, Mrs. Scarlatti. We're lucky to have Mike on our team," he told her, making sure the young man heard the praise.

Vito stepped over. "Vito Scarlatti," he said as he shook Parker's hand. "Mike's brother."

While Vito introduced himself to Greg, Mrs. Scarlatti waved Bridget around to the table, giving her a motherly hug along the way and softly thanking her for looking after her Mikey.

Once the introductions were done, Mrs. Scarlatti took a good look at her youngest son. With his hair matted and sticking up on one side and the still somewhat bleary eyes, she concluded that he had indeed gotten some sleep and had only recently gotten up, which meant that he probably hadn't eaten yet.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and told him to go get cleaned up, that she would start supper. He nodded and started to stand.

Greg took it as his cue to leave and he told Spike that he would check on him again the next day. Since the team was off active duty until the requalify was complete and in light of the situation with Ed, Commander Holleran had given them a couple of extra days off. He started to say goodbye to the Scarlatti's at which point Mrs. Scarlatti insisted that he and Bridget stay for supper with the family. Greg tried to protest, saying he didn't want to intrude, but Spike's mother wouldn't take no for an answer.

Spike left the room, taking what was left of his cell phone with him – he would try to fix it later - as his boss sat back down at the table. Twenty minutes later, Spike returned freshly showered and shaved and in clean clothes. He walked over to the counter where his mother was cooking.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, looking into the large skillet as he swiped a bit of tomato and a piece of cheese his brother was busy grating from the counter.

His mother waved her hand at one of the cupboards, asking him to get the dishes before she replied, "Pasta e patate."

His eyes were brighter and more focused as he counted in his head the number of people present and took the corresponding number of plates and bowls out of the cupboard. He and Bridget set the table while Vito helped his mother with dinner. Every now and then Spike's niece or nephew would come into the kitchen asking for a drink, or when dinner would be ready. All the while, Vito and Spike kept up a running commentary on the food preparation and their mother's culinary skills, eliciting smiles and occasional laughs from her, Bridget and Greg.

When the meal was ready and the drinks poured, lemonade for the kids and Greg and wine for the rest, they all sat down at the crowded table to eat. Vito sat at the head of the table, his mother to his left and Greg to his right. Spike sat next to Greg with Bridget across from him and his niece and nephew on either side of her. Mrs. Scarlatti nodded to her oldest son and held out both hands on either side of her. Vito, Spike and the kids automatically did the same and Greg and Bridget followed suit. Bowing his head, Vito said grace, expressing thanks that all of the family was safe, for the caring friends gathered around the table and for the food his mother had prepared. He also prayed for continued protection for all of them, especially Mike, and for his father's quick recovery. At the end of the prayer, they all said, "Amen."

Spike gave both Bridget and Greg a small smile and lightly squeezed their hands before letting go. Dropping his napkin into his lap, he scanned the table trying to decide what to eat first. Normally, he started with the salad, but he was far too hungry now for rabbit food. He spied the pasta dish in front of Vito and was just about to pass his bowl eagerly to his brother when he remembered his manners and deferred to his boss.

Greg saw the predatory look in Spike's eyes and shook his head, "Bridget tells me you haven't eaten anything since breakfast yesterday," he said, grabbing Spike's bowl and trading it for the one Vito had just heaped pasta into. He set the full bowl down in front of Spike. "Eat," he ordered.

Spike was so hungry he didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed his spoon and then stopped and looked around the table again. His mother noticed his look of concentration and asked what he needed.

"Formaggio, per favore," he answered, still looking for the small bowl of grated cheese that usually accompanied their evening meals. He knew his brother had been grating cheese. Where was it? His mother jumped up and retrieved it from the counter behind her, handing it to her son before sitting back down.

"Ah! Grazie, Mamma," said Spike as he took the bowl. He took a heaping spoonful of cheese from the bowl, shook it over his pasta, and then repeated the action a couple more times. Satisfied he had enough, he passed the bowl to his nephew who was clamoring for it.

Spike hastily shoveled the pasta down and was starting on his third bowl before anyone else had even finished their first. Greg was a little surprised at how much the young man could pack away. Compared to the rest of the team, only Jules usually ate less than Spike. Greg wondered where he was putting it.

"Mikey!" his mother admonished, "slow down! You'll make yourself sick!"

"Yeah, Uncle Mike," his nephew chimed in, "save some for the rest of us!"

"What can I say," replied Spike, "I'm hungry!" He did slow down, though he eventually emptied the bowl.

Mrs. Scarlatti turned to Greg. "How is your friend," she asked, "the one who was shot yesterday? And his wife and baby, will they be all right?" Bridget had filled Vito in with what she knew of the situation while Spike had visited his father. After she and Spike had left the hospital, Vito had told his mother.

Greg told her what he had told Bridget, that all three of the Lanes were stable and being monitored. Mrs. Scarlatti offered up a silent prayer for them.

With a glance first at Spike, Greg asked her about Mr. Scarlatti. He felt the young man next to him tense a bit at the question. Spike stared into his bowl as he moved the pasta around with his spoon. He said nothing, but hazarded a glance at his mother when she explained that her husband was doing well and that so far the damage appeared to be minimal. The doctors were still trying to determine exactly what had caused the seizure, but she was hopeful that he would be coming home within the next few days.

"I'm glad he's going to be okay," Greg smiled.

"If you can call Stage IV lung cancer okay," muttered Spike. Greg shot him a look, but didn't say anything and neither did anyone else. Spike looked apprehensive again and except for Bridget, all the adults at the table knew why. The ongoing split between Spike and his father was common knowledge within the family, add to it the nature of Dominic Scarlatti's illness, and they could imagine what was going through Spike's mind. He might not know exactly what was going to happen, but he knew things were coming to a head.

They spent the rest of the meal in pleasant conversation with Greg content to remain quiet as Bridget and the Scarlatti's got reacquainted. Mrs. Scarlatti recalled how Bridget used to come by the house with Marco's friend and that she had been pleasantly surprised when Mike had told her how he had run into her in Jamaica. It would have been hard not to notice how excited he had been about the chance encounter. Everyone smiled when she told them how he had come home from his vacation on cloud nine, practically walking on air. Even his father had mentioned it to her, she said. He and Bridget shared a knowing look when Mrs. Scarlatti continued, saying she had been surprised when she realized a month or so later that Mike had not called her. It hadn't dawned on his mother that Lew's death and the resultant fight with his father were the reasons for that.

Mrs. Scarlatti patted Bridget's hand and said, "I am so glad Mike ran into you again last night, Bridget. You two are good for each other, I think," she smiled.

"Any woman who would drop everything to look after you, little bro, is a keeper in my book," chimed in Vito.

Spike felt his cheeks redden and he exchanged an embarrassed smile with Bridget. Changing the subject, he asked his niece and nephew how school was going. They traded mostly humorous stories of middle school and high school until they couldn't eat any more. Greg leaned back at one point, watching as Bridget and Spike laughed about ditching their classmates and chaperones on a class trip to Ottawa, wandering the grounds of Parliament Hill and missing the bus back to their hotel. Seeing the younger man smiling and laughing as he enjoyed his family's company warmed Greg's heart and gave him hope that his friend would weather his troubles just fine. He saw the way Spike and Bridget looked at each other and knew, especially after the way she had cared for Spike the night before, and the fact that she was still here, that she would be there for him, come what may. He had no delusions that it would be an easy road for the young man, but at least he had people close to him that would help him along the way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own it.

**Author's Note**: This is a little teaser about the rest of the team's morning after, so to speak, along with a little bit from Scarlatti Senior's POV. Thanks to rgs38, .Naxen and FanFictionFan63 for the nudges! Hopefully, there's enough to hold you 'til the next one. This chapter probably should have been posted before the last one, but since I only wrote it last night, oh well. ;-)

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It was eight a.m. when Sam woke up, enjoying the still quiet inside the apartment though he could hear the sounds of the city just outside his window. Cars, trucks and buses drove past the downtown building, ten floors down, the occasional angry honking of a car horn signaling a driver's displeasure. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a jackhammer and the pounding of heavy equipment at some construction site.

He rolled out of bed and padded through the living room toward the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he saw the petite figure stretched out on his sofa, dainty feet sticking out from under the thin blanket that covered the rest of her. He had almost forgotten that Jules had come up with him last night. He thought back their conversation yesterday.

He had been surprised when she had shown up at his door after work the day before. After their respective psych evaluations, and the discussion they'd had afterward, he figured he wouldn't be seeing her outside of work again except to go for the occasional drink with the team. They had once again discussed their situation and Sam had gotten the distinct feeling that Jules was trying to figure out which one of them should leave Team One. Neither of them wanted to, that much was certain. On some level, he supposed it should be him; after all, Jules was already on the team when he had arrived. He had been the one to ignore regulations and had been the one to pursue her. She had resisted and he probably should have let it be, but he had been persistent and had finally persuaded her to go out with him. He hadn't even felt the need to be clandestine about it. He had wanted to shout it from the rooftops that he loved her, but she had known what would happen if anyone found out, and for a while, they had been able to keep it a secret. But, Jules had been right. Now their former romantic relationship was on record and at best, they were looking at censure and a reprimand. At worst, one or both of them could lose their job. Whether that meant being transferred to another SRU team, demotion from the SRU or just plain termination, he didn't know. None of the options sounded appealing to him. In the end, they had decided to wait and see what Commander Holleran had to say about it. They already knew Greg was okay with the situation. If he wasn't, he would have said something to them as soon as he had found out they were seeing each other.

If one of them did have to leave Team One, he thought it might not be so bad. At least they would be able to see each other again. Still, Sam hated the fact that he would have to sacrifice either his professional life or his private life in order to be somewhat happy. He had had the best of both worlds for a while and he would give anything to have that back.

With a sigh, he continued to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He would need some and while Jules wasn't exactly a morning person, that didn't mean she liked to sleep in all the time. He figured she would be up soon enough and he might as well have some coffee ready for her.

* * *

Kevin Wordsworth awoke to the sound of dishes clanging in the sink. He rolled over onto his side and looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand, surprised to see that it was almost 10:00AM. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he had gotten a full eight hours of sleep. He rolled out of bed and, after a quick trip to the bathroom, he padded down the stairs to the kitchen. As soon as he hit the first floor, he smelled the freshly brewed coffee and smiled eagerly.

He found his wife standing in front of the sink washing the last of the dishes from the girls' dinner last night. Shelley had left them in her haste to get the girls ready to take to her parent's house when Kevin had called with the news about Ed and Sophie. Kevin padded silently over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. He held her close for a long moment, enjoying the peace and quiet that was so rare these days. He rocked her back and forth a few times before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. Shelley leaned back and turned her head toward him and he kissed her again, this time on the lips.

"I'd hug you back, but…" she smiled, lifting her hands out of the sink and dripping hot, soapy water.

He smiled, "That's okay, Shel." With another quick kiss, he let her go and reached up to open the cupboard and pull out a large coffee mug.

"Oh, hey, I talked to my mom and she's going to bring the girls home around three, okay?" said Shelley.

Stepping over to the coffee machine, Kevin grabbed the pot and started pouring the dark liquid into the mug. "Yeah, that sounds fine," he said. His hand started shaking and he cursed under his breath as he spilled coffee on the countertop. He quickly returned the pot to the coffee maker and grabbed a towel to clean up the mess he had made.

"Kev?" asked Shelley, "Is everything okay?"

He looked up at her and gave her an apologetic smile. "Yeah, I just spilled some coffee, that's all," he said as he wiped down the counter with his left hand. He kept his right hand out of sight at his side.

Shelley Wordsworth grabbed another towel and began drying her hands as she turned to face her husband. "Are you sure, Kev?" she asked uncertainly.

He had seemed a little distracted to her lately, and she wasn't sure why. She had no reason to suspect another woman; she knew Kevin loved her and the girls with all his heart, still she couldn't help thinking something was wrong. She leaned a hip onto the sink and took a good look at him. While he looked rested this morning, she could still see bags under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep. That was no surprise to her, of course. Little Allie liked to wake them up every few hours at night. It was sometimes hard for her to get back to sleep and she only had the girls and the house to worry about; she could only imagine what he was going through. His job was extremely stressful at times and she knew there were things he saw at work that he would never share with her and that he would do his best to shelter their daughters from it as well. Money was tight, too and with prices going up every time they turned around, it was only getting tighter. It was a lot to deal with and she knew he worried about the bills piling up. She, too, was worried about how they were going to pay for everything.

Kevin laughed a little and waved the towel in his hand. "Yeah, Shel. Listen, it's just a little coffee." He tried to assure her. "No harm done."

Shelley hung the towel back up and walked over to her husband. Looking up into his eyes, she said, "I'm not talking about the coffee, honey," she shook her head. "I'm talking about you." She paused. "Are you okay?"

With a sigh, he took her in his arms again. "Shel," he started, trying to tell her that everything was fine, but the words stuck in his throat. He began to shake a little, which only added to her concern. He held her tighter, closing his eyes and dropping his head to her shoulder as he did so.

"Kevin?" Shelley was becoming alarmed now. After a minute or so, she stepped out of the embrace to look him in the eyes again. "What is it?"

When he opened his eyes, she could see fear in them. "Talk to me, Kevin," she pleaded with him. "What's wrong?"

He led her over to the small table by the window and motioned for her to sit down as he did so himself. Placing both hands on the table in front of him, he looked down at them for a second before looking back at his wife.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Okay, now you're starting to scare me," said Shelley in a serious tone. "What is going on?"

Kevin hesitated as he tried to think of how to tell his wife about his potential medical condition. He took a deep breath. "I may have a problem at work," he told her, "a serious problem."

She looked at him, at the fear and worry now etched into his face, and tried to remain calm. The last thing they needed right now was for him to lose his job.

"What kind of problem?" she asked.

Instead of answering her, he held out his right arm for a moment until his hand started to shake. He then set it back down and looked at her apprehensively. "It started almost a year ago," he told her. "Every now and then, my hand would start to shake a little. I didn't think much about it at the time. Figured it was just nerves. But lately, it's been happening more and more. My scores on the gun range are down. Yesterday, during the requalify, I missed an easy shot and Spike had to back me up. The psychologist pointed it out during the psych eval, so now it's on record," he continued, shaking his head.

"Okay," reasoned Shelley, "so you have a slight muscle twitch. There has to be an explanation. We'll go to the doctor and find out what it is," she said, trying to reassure him.

Kevin looked at her. "It's not just the shaking," he said. "I pretty much bombed the psych eval. I was distracted. I couldn't think straight. Shel," he said fearfully, "I don't know what I'm going to do if I lose my job. I don't know how to do anything else."

His anxiety level was visibly ramping up and, to be honest, so was hers. This was the first Shelley had heard about any kind of problem and the thought of him losing his job was just as frightening to her as it was to him. Still, it wouldn't do any good for both of them to start losing it, so she just took a couple of deep breaths and tried to think through what their next course of action should be.

"Okay," she said calmly, reaching out to take his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "so we'll go to the doctor and find out what it is we're dealing with," she repeated, looking him directly in the eyes and trying to project a calm she didn't feel. "And, we'll go from there.

"What if it's something serious?" he asked her desperately. "What if I can't do my job anymore?"

"One step at a time," she said, patting his hand. "Like your mother is always saying, Kev," she reminded him with a small smile, "Let's not go borrowing trouble."

* * *

In Toronto General Hospital's Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, Ed Lane awoke to find his mother sitting in a chair next to his bed. She smiled at him and took his hand as his eyes fluttered open and recognition slowly emerged.

"Hey, Mom," Ed spoke softly. "When did you get here?" he asked.

His mother patted his hand. "Only about thirty minutes ago," she told him. "We drove back as soon as we got the call. Your father's out in the hallway talking to your doctor."

Ed nodded. "Sophie's in labor," he said. "Did anyone tell you?"

"Yes," she said, "When Sergeant Parker called us last night to tell us what happened to you, he mentioned that she was in labor here at the hospital. But, the doctors won't tell us anything because we aren't immediate family. They said they can only tell you or her parents," she continued. "I guess in-laws don't count."

Ed thought for a second. "Where are Marshall and Sylvia?" he asked. "They were here last night. They took Clark home with them," he said.

"We haven't been up to the maternity ward yet," she told him. "We wanted to see you first."

Ed nodded again as his father stepped into the room. "I'll ask the doctors myself," he said. "Dad, sorry you had to cut your vacation short," he addressed his father.

"Nonsense," his father gently chided. "How could we possibly enjoy our holiday knowing you're in hospital, that you were shot? And knowing Sophie's delivering our granddaughter?"

"How were the Adirondacks?" asked Ed.

"Gorgeous, just as you would expect this time of year," his father replied. "Now, enough about us, how are you feeling? Do you need anything?" he asked.

His son shook his head. "The only thing I need is to see Soph and make sure she's all right," replied Ed has he tried valiantly to sit up. Unfortunately, the pressure from the wound in his chest still felt like a large animal was sitting on him, though maybe not quite an elephant anymore. He let out an exasperated breath and closed his eyes.

"Now, don't go overdoing it, son," his father scolded. "You were shot and just had major surgery. You need to rest!"

Ed growled softly. He hated having to rest. He hated being hurt. He hated not knowing what was going on with his wife and baby daughter. The thought of Sophie giving birth without him being there was almost more than he could take. As much as he hated the thought of losing his team, it was the thought of losing his wife and family that kept him awake at night. He would have to do whatever it took to make sure that didn't happen.

* * *

Across town in the Humber River Regional Hospital's Oncology ward, Dominic Scarlatti lay awake thinking about his youngest son. He didn't remember Mike coming to visit him last night, but his wife told him he had stopped by late last night. Dominic seemed to recall hearing his son's soft voice speaking to him, though he couldn't make out what was said. He only vaguely recalled feeling something dripping lightly on his arm before someone took his hand and whispered a tortured "I'm sorry." _Was it Michelangelo?_ he wondered.

The pain in that soft voice had surprised him. The last words he and Mike had exchanged had been angry, spoken in the heat of an argument. He knew his son had been hurting over the death of his friend. He had thought perhaps now Mike could understand what he and his mother lived with every day. He had been upset, relieved that it hadn't been his son who had died, but upset nonetheless, because it drove home with striking clarity the fact that his beloved Michelangelo could die every time he left for work. He didn't know what he would do if that happened. Dominic Scarlatti loved all of his children equally, but Michelangelo had always been special. He had practically come out of the womb smiling and that smile was infectious. When he was a boy, if Mikey smiled at you, all your troubles would seem to melt away and within minutes you would be smiling and laughing right along with him. As he'd gotten older, that quality had been tempered by the sheer weight of life. Oh sure, Mike still had a megawatt smile that could light up a room. But, it showed up with less and less frequency. Thinking about it now, Dominic couldn't remember the last time he had seen his son smile and he found that he missed it. He felt a tug on his heart as he thought about that awful evening when he last spoke to his son.

He had been sitting at the table, eating mechanically. He couldn't get past the questions in his mind: What if it was Michelangelo? What would he do? And, what would his wife do if something happened to Mike after he was gone? She would be all alone. So, he had tried to explain to Mike that this pain and fear were what he felt every single day. But, Dominic Scarlatti was better at expressing anger than fear. And so, his explanation had turned into accusation. Of course, Mike had gotten angry. Why shouldn't he have? And, he wasn't wrong. Dominic knew better than most people that one day he would die, much sooner than any of them would like. He didn't need his son throwing it back in his face, though. So, he had gotten angry, too. But, more than that, he was a little hurt that Mike hadn't recognized that it was pain and fear more so than anger he was feeling. They used to be so close once. Before Mike had joined the police, he and Mike had been much more in tune with each other. Dominic's way of dealing with it all was to try to avoid the emotional trigger, which meant that he did his best to avoid his son. He thought it would make things easier, not having to face the thing that hurt him so much on a daily basis. But, it didn't. All it did was make things harder. He was so used to avoiding Mike now that he didn't know how to stop. He didn't know how to sit down and talk to his son or if he even could anymore. All he knew was that he needed to, and that his time to do so was running out.

* * *

**A/N**: As always, please let me know what you think! Thanks, _**Psy**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I still don't own it.

**Author's Note**: Sorry it took so long to get this out. I couldn't get the scene with Spike and his dad quite the way I wanted it, probably because I watched NCIS instead of writing it down as soon as it came to me. It's only taken me about four rewrites to get it this far and it's still not quite what I envisioned. My 12-year-old even tried to help me with his suggestion that I try starting at the end and work toward the beginning. He got the idea from the movie 'The Lookout' in which, ironically, Sergio di Zio has a small part. Oh well. You'll just have to let me know what you think. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! **- Psy**

* * *

Spike thought back to the previous day. He had spent most of Monday evening catching up with Bridget, Vito and his niece and nephew before driving Bridget back to her apartment. It had felt a little weird with the boss being there, but he had to admit it had been kind of fun, actually. It was nice to slow things down and just breathe for a while. After he'd returned from taking Bridget home, his mother had told him that his father had asked about him at the hospital that day and that he wanted to see him. Spike had instantly become apprehensive again and his mother was quick to reassure him that it would be okay. She told him that she would be there, too, and that she thought his father felt just as badly about the way things were as he did. Perhaps they would finally be able to talk things out.

Tuesday found him helping his mother around the house and taking her to the hospital in the afternoon. His brother Dom and his sister were both there when they arrived and they, too, encouraged him to talk to their father and try to work things out. They both knew from talking to Mike and their parents how strained things had become. They were afraid their baby brother would not survive it if their father died before the two of them could make amends.

Mrs. Scarlatti stood by her husband's hospital bed, telling him that Mike was there to see him, if that was what he wanted. She saw a flash of pain flit across his face before he patted her hand and shook his head. Although he had stated the day before that he wanted to see Mike, he still had no idea what to say to him. As much as he wanted to fix things with his son, he didn't know how to do it. She took his hand and squeezed it, saying she would tell Mike to come in. Dominic pursed his lips and continued to shake his head vehemently. To the casual observer, he might have seemed angry, but she knew he was just afraid. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing, or maybe afraid of saying the right thing in the wrong way. It had been so long since he and Mike had spoken, she knew he feared what their son might think of him now. She felt the fear was misplaced, but still she understood it.

As she left to go get Mike, Dominic pressed the button that lifted the bed so that he was in more of a sitting position. He did want to talk to Mike, but he still wasn't sure how to start the conversation. What he didn't want was to fall back into the anger that had come so easily to him in the past. But, he was afraid that he didn't know how to talk to his son without the anger anymore and that he would end up making things even worse between them.

His wife returned shortly, telling him that Mike was on his way. She stepped up to his bedside and straightened up the covers. She was just as nervous as the two of them, she realized. She knew this could go one of two ways. Either the two of them would work things out, or their relationship would be further strained, possibly even to the breaking point. They were already so close to the breaking point, she could only hope it was the former.

Spike approached his father's hospital room hesitantly, his heart pounding in his chest. His father hadn't spoken to him in nearly a year, hadn't even looked at him in almost as long. He felt like the band that had finally unwrapped itself from around his chest yesterday was back, tighter than ever. A few steps from the doorway, he turned around and started walking back toward the waiting room. His brother saw him and moved quickly to intercept him. Holding Spike by the shoulders, Dom tried to turn him around, all the while telling his brother that he needed to do this and that it would be okay. Spike resisted, though, and Dom ended up slowly pushing him backwards until they reached the doorway. Dom turned his head and saw his father watching them from the bed. He looked almost angry. _No_, Dom thought, _not angry… maybe disappointed_. He turned his brother so that he was facing his father. Spike could see both anger and disappointment on his father's face and knowing he was the cause of it cut him to the quick.

Dom gave him a gentle push, sending him into the room. Just inside the doorway, Spike stopped to take a few deep breaths, or as deep as the band would allow, to calm his nerves. He was shaking as he slowly stepped toward the bed, keeping his eyes on the wall above his father's head. It forced him to keep his head up when all he wanted to look at was the floor. He didn't want to see his father turn away from him again. He didn't think he could take it.

His mother stood by his father's bedside, speaking to him softly as she motioned Spike to come closer. His father was sitting up in the bed. He looked a bit haler than he had on Sunday night and Spike was thankful for that. Still, the old man was having trouble keeping his eyes on him, Spike thought and he hesitated, waiting to see what his father would do.

His mother scowled before reaching out and taking his arm, practically dragging him the rest of the way. The fact that she had had to do so was not lost on his father who turned away angrily and stared at the window. _He doesn't even want to be here_, he thought bitterly. He couldn't easily get up and walk away, but he didn't have to look at the cause of all his pain and anguish.

Spike saw his father turn away, feeling as though a knife had been stabbed through his heart. He shook his head, and closed his eyes tightly, letting his head fall back. He almost started crying right then and there, but somehow he held off the tears.

His mother saw his reaction and her heart went out to her son. She knew just how much his father's silent treatment hurt him. At the same time, she knew her husband was just trying to protect himself from the thought of losing his son. Still, the drama was long past getting old and it was high time they dealt with their issues.

She looked at her husband. "Dominic!" she spoke sharply, causing him to turn and look at her. "Questo è troppo! Lui è Suo figlio. Guardi a lui e gli parli!"

Dominic Scarlatti looked at her for a long moment before turning to his son. He could see his own anguish mirrored on his son's face and he remembered the soft, pain-filled voice from his slumber two nights before. Could it be that Mike felt just as badly about all this as he did? He wondered.

But, when Spike finally opened his eyes and looked at his father again, Dominic reflexively looked away. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop the feeling of anger rising up in him.

Spike shook his head and turned to leave the room, but his mother took his hand and held on tightly, not letting him go. She looked at her husband.

"Dominic," she repeated plaintively, "Look at Mikey; talk to him!" Her husband just shook his head, his face screwed up against the pain and anger he felt.

Spike tried to break free from his mother's grasp. "Ma," he said, "he's not going to talk to me." His mother held tight and he threw his free arm up in frustration.

"He hates me so much now he can't even look at me, Ma!" Deep down, Spike knew that wasn't true. He knew his father loved him, that it was the fear of losing him that made his father turn away; still that was how it felt to him every time his father walked away from him or refused to look at him.

Upon hearing his son's words, Dominic Scarlatti started shaking his head. "No!" he said, his heart breaking at the thought. "No! I don't hate you, Michelangelo," he spoke sadly, knowing it was his own fault that his son felt this way. "You are my son! How could I hate you?"

"Then why can't you look at me?" Spike cried, losing the battle against the tears that now streamed down his face.

His father just shook his head again. He, too, felt tears welling up in his eyes, because he still couldn't bring himself to look at his son, even knowing how much it hurt Mike.

"Look at me!" wailed Spike. He was crying openly now, his hands curled into tight fists. His mother gasped as he nearly crushed the hand she still had wrapped around his, but didn't say anything.

Dominic turned to look at his son, the anguish in the voice too much to ignore. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife's pained expression and sought out the cause.

"Michelangelo!" he cried, nodding down at Mike's hand curled tightly around his mother's fingers. Spike looked down and realized he was hurting his mother.

He cringed. "I'm sorry, Mama!" Releasing her hand, he apologized to her again before looking back at his father. He could see his father was angry with him for hurting her. _It's not like I meant to_, he thought stubbornly, but didn't say anything. After all, he didn't think his father would appreciate it if he pointed out that it was the fact that his father wouldn't look at him that had made him do that. He tried to take another calming breath. Getting even more upset wasn't going to get them anywhere.

Mrs. Scarlatti waved off her son's apology saying it wasn't necessary. She knew he hadn't meant to do it. She assured both of them that her hand was fine.

Satisfied that she was all right, Dominic nodded to her and turned back to his son. He could see the resentment on Spike's face before his son closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He watched as Spike tried to school his features, looking back up at him somewhat more calmly.

Still, as soon as Spike looked at him, he found himself turning away again, this time looking down at his hands. The movement was so ingrained now; he didn't know how to stop.

Spike shook his head sadly as he watched his father look away yet again. "How are we ever going to work this out if you can't even look at me, Pa?" he asked softly. He sighed.

"I know you're scared, Pa," Spike said after a moment in that small, soft voice. "I know you're afraid that I'll be hurt or killed and I'm sorry, Pa. I really am sorry. But, I can't change who I am."

"Who you are?" replied his father with a tinge of anger. "You are my son! You are supposed to respect and honor your parents! Can't you see I don't want to lose you, Michelangelo?"

Spike could feel the anger and frustration building within him as well. "So, you think pushing me away is better?" he asked. "How is that better?

"Ah, you don't understand!" his father waved at him.

"I understand the fear, Pa," Spike assured his father. "I get it. I do. But, how is pushing me away better than dealing with it?" he asked.

"We've lost almost an entire year, Pa," he continued. "That's a year we're never going to get back."

Again, his father waved at him. "You know what you need to do!" he said angrily.

"I know what you want me to do," replied Spike. "You want me to quit my job. You want me to quit SRU."

"You're going to say, what? That you can't?" his father asked bitterly. "And, why? Because you can't change who you are?"

Spike bit his tongue, trying to quell his own anger and bitterness. "I suppose I could," he admitted, nodding his head. "I could quit my job.

"And, that would buy us a few months peace. Maybe," he said. "But, I'd just end up resenting you for making me do it," he continued calmly. "Don't you see that?" he asked. He thought about what he'd said the last time he was here, adding, "And then we'd be right back where we are now, except I'd be the one angry at you." He looked at his father dolefully. "And, I don't want that either."

He waited for his father to say something, but what he really wanted was his father to look at him. Even if he didn't say anything, Spike wanted his father to see him, to see that he felt just as badly as his father did. When his father still hadn't said anything after a few moments, Spike shook his head and looked at his mother who gave him a small, sad smile.

"I don't know what else to say, Pa," admitted Spike. "But, if you can't even look at me, what's the point?" he asked dejectedly. With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked slowly out of the room. He half hoped his father would call him back. But, he didn't. So, Spike walked back to the waiting room, waving off his brother and sister when he got there. He didn't feel like talking anymore and he didn't need to tell them how it had gone anyway. The look on his face said it all.

* * *

Sophie Lane awoke early Wednesday morning to find her husband sitting in the chair that he had scooted right up next to the bed, an IV stand and wheelchair next to it. She vaguely recalled Shelley and Wordy stopping by late yesterday, but she had fallen asleep and couldn't remember them leaving. _They must have brought Ed up here after that_, she thought.

Now, Ed leaned into the bed a little so that he could rest his head on her shoulder and he had taken her hand in one of his. Sophie leaned away from him a little to get a look at his face. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. He wore his bathrobe over the thin hospital gown and his slippered feet were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. She looked down at his chest where she could see the outline of the gauze bandages through the gown and the realization that she could have lost him for good hit her like a ton of bricks.

She looked back up to his face and noticed for the first time the gaunt features and pale skin, the dark circles and bags under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep. She wondered how long it had been since he'd had a decent meal and a good night's sleep. _Probably not since Clark and I left_, she thought to herself. She thought back to a couple of years before. They had been happy, she had thought. Maybe Ed wasn't around as much as she would have liked, but they had made it work once. She wondered if they could make it work again. She didn't really want to leave him. She loved him; that much she knew. And, she was pretty sure he loved her and she knew he loved Clark. She also knew he would fall in love with their daughter as soon as he saw her. He was just that kind of guy. She smiled at the thought of him playing the tough guy, only to be reduced to a big puddle of mushy goo at the sight of his little girl. Somehow, she knew he would be. If their daughter survived, that is. That was the first step.

Her smile faded as she thought of what could happen in the coming hours and days and she turned to look out the window. The sun was just starting to come up and she could only vaguely see the tree in the courtyard beyond. The doctor had told her that they were going to take her off the suppression medication today. Within twelve hours or so, they estimated, normal labor would start again and this time, they hoped, the baby's heart rate would be normal, or at least close enough not to pose a threat to her health. She silently prayed that her baby would be born healthy, that Ed would be okay and that they could be together and put all of this behind them once and for all.

Ed stirred, groaning a little as he stretched his legs. He hissed in pain as the stretch moved up to his chest and pulled at the stitches from the surgery. He had just opened his eyes when the pain hit him and he immediately closed them tight again as he struggled to breathe through it.

When the last wave of pain subsided, Ed opened his eyes again, blinking away the sleep and trying to remember where he was. He took in the institutional wall and window coverings before looking down at his attire. _Oh, yeah_, he thought, _hospital_. He turned to his left to find his wife looking at him intently.

"Soph," he whispered groggily as he lightly squeezed the hand he still held in his. "How're you feeling?" he asked as his thumb traced back and forth across the back of her hand.

She just continued looking at him for a long moment before answering, "I'll be fine." After another moment, she continued, "What about you?"

"Me?" he asked in mock surprise. "I'm good." He gave her what he thought was a winning smile.

Sophie smirked sadly at him, "Mm hmm," she murmured and then shook her head. "You couldn't just make up an excuse for why you couldn't be here?" she asked. "You had to go and get shot?"

At least he had the decency to look apologetic. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, Soph," he told her. "I wanted to be. You have to believe me," he tried to convince her. "I love you more than anything," he said, looking deep into her eyes.

Ed sat up carefully and placed a hand on Sophie's shoulder before letting go of her hand and placing his other hand on her protruding belly and tracing light circles on it. Her doctors had told him what was going on the other day and though he had wanted to come up to see Sophie then, his own doctors wouldn't allow it until he was stronger. So, when Wordy and Shelley had visited the night before, he had convinced Wordy to bring him up. It had taken some cajoling and he'd told the nurse that they were just going to walk around the floor a little. They had gotten as far as around the first corner when Ed had spotted an empty wheelchair and had slid into it despite Wordy's whispered protests. In the end, Ed had convinced his friend to bring him up here under the pretense of a short visit. But, when they got to Sophie's room, she was already asleep. Ed decided he was too tired to make the trek back to his own room and opted to stay with his wife. Since Wordy had no desire to go back to the cardiac wing empty-handed, he and Shelley got him squared away in the chair and left, notifying the night nurse on their way out that he was there just to be safe.

Ed now understood the dire straights their daughter was in. The potential for heart and lung problems were severe and the thought of losing the baby was too horrifying to consider. Ed wasn't exactly a religious man, but he found himself praying for his baby girl and his wife whenever he thought about what could happen when the labor started again. He was thankful that both his parents and his in-laws were around to look after Clark. He knew his son would need all the support he could get in the coming days.

He was almost glad he had been shot. It took some of the pressure off him having to choose between the job and his family. He would need plenty of time to recuperate, which meant plenty of time with Sophie, Clark and the baby before he would even have to think about going back to work. _Maybe it was a blessing in disguise_, he thought.

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Well, that's it for now. I should be wrapping this up pretty soon. Don't forget to review! Thanks again, _**Psy**_.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**: Okay, I'm beginning to think I'll never own Flashpoint. GRR!

**Author's Note**: I know after the last chapter I said I would be wrapping this up, but this story just doesn't want to end. So, we go on. Here's a little bit on the first day back at work for the team members who weren't so rudely shot in the season finale. I've got a little more than this written, but the kid wants me to play catch with him and, let's face it, he's 12. Any day now he's going to decide he wants nothing more to do with me until he hits 20 or so. (He already is convinced I don't know anything.) :-)

Anyway, here's Lucky Chapter 13!

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Wordy pulled his car into a parking spot at SRU headquarters and turned off the engine. Instead of getting out, though, he sat staring out the windshield at the field bordering the lot. Shelley had managed to get him into their doctor's office the day before and he had explained his symptoms as well as his concerns about being able to do his job. The doctor, a general practitioner, had given him a complete physical examination, including vision and hearing tests, as well as some basic coordination and cognitive tests. The doctor had also taken a blood sample to be sent out for a full workup and had referred Wordy to a neurologist for further testing. He explained that the symptoms, when taken all together, indicated the possibility of Parkinson's disease, but that he couldn't say definitively what the cause was; that would be determined by the neurological exam. He also explained that even if it turned out to be Parkinson's, there was no reason he should have to quit his job in the short term. The muscle twitching was minimal at this point and with treatment, they might be able to forestall further deterioration, at least for the time being. As long as his work performance did not diminish, the doctor saw no reason why Wordy would not be able to continue working for now. Of course, how long he would be able to continue working depended upon the final diagnosis and prognosis.

Then again, Wordy knew it wasn't entirely up to the doctors. A lot would depend on his superiors in the SRU. He knew Dr. Toth would have discussed his concerns in more detail with Greg by now, possibly even with Commander Holleran. He was pretty sure Greg would work with him for the time being; he wasn't so sure about Holleran. What Wordy knew about the man was purely anecdotal. He had never reported directly to him, nor had he ever worked closely with him, so he had no real sense of what he would do. If Toth convinced Holleran that Wordy was a potential threat to the safety of the team, that could be all she wrote, he thought. He might already be done with the SRU and possibly even Metro PD. As it had several times over the past few days, his breath hitched at the mere thought that his career might be over. Fear started to seep into his mind again and he had to work consciously to remove it. Shelley had tried her best to be supportive and encouraging, telling him that no matter what happened, as long as the five of them remained together, they would make it. But, Wordy knew his wife was worried, too. With three young girls, a mortgage and bills mounting, they couldn't afford for him to lose his job.

Wordy shook his head. _I'm going around in circles again_, he thought to himself. He thought back to when he had left the house that morning. After Claire and Lilly had given him their goodbye hugs and kisses, Shel had wrapped her arms around him and held him close for a while. She had looked up at him and said softly, "One day at a time," before gently kissing him and letting him go. Finally stepping out of the car, Wordy held on to that as he grabbed his bag and headed in to learn his fate and that of his team.

Sam was already in the locker room when Wordy walked in and set his bag down on the bench. The two men nodded to each other, though they were too wrapped up in their own thoughts to speak. Sam finished dressing and was just stepping around the stand of lockers when he was almost run into by Spike who was just making his way in. The bomb tech muttered a distracted apology as he stepped around his teammate.

"Spike?" Sam looked concernedly at his friend. "Everything okay?" He shared a look with Wordy when Spike just nodded and opened his locker. He started changing silently, not looking at either of the other two men. Sam shrugged and continued out of the room.

"So, Spike, Bridget seems real nice," said Wordy, trying to engage his friend in conversation.

"Mm hmm," replied Spike noncommittally.

"Hot and nice," Wordy continued, "that's a rare and terrific combination, buddy. You should hold on to her; even Shelley said so."

"Yeah," agreed Spike. He was quiet as he pulled out his boots and sat down on the bench to put them on.

Wordy finished dressing and quietly closed his locker. With one last look at his teammate, he walked slowly out toward the briefing room.

Spike only half-listened as Wordy's footsteps faded until they were gone. All he could think about was the rather short conversation he had had with his mother at breakfast. Actually, it wasn't a conversation so much as his mother stating that his father would be coming home that afternoon. Spike hadn't actually said anything; he had just nodded and, after downing the rest of his orange juice, he got up, kissed his mother goodbye and left for work, grabbing his bag on the way out. Now, he just sat on the bench and rubbed his face with his hands.

With a heavy sigh, he stood up and started to close his locker, stopping to look into the mirror on the inside of the door as he did so. He could see why his friends sounded so worried. He had been so out of sorts the last time they had seen him and now there were bags and dark circles starting to form under his eyes from the lack of sleep the night before. He had tossed and turned for hours last night as his mind replayed the confrontation with his father. He had tried so hard to remain calm and to try to talk to his father, to try to explain his position. But, he had failed miserably and had just made things worse. When he got home from work today, his father would already be there and Spike just knew the silent treatment would start all over again. He wasn't sure he could take much more of it.

To make matters worse, now he had to go sit in the briefing room and find out just how effed up the team was going to be now that Ed was out of commission and the requalification was over. He was sure there were going to be changes to the team and not just because of Ed. He hadn't spoken with any of his teammates since Sunday night at the hospital, except for the boss on Monday, of course. But, Sarge hadn't said anything about the results of the requalification, except to say that they had nothing to worry about. They were still the best team in the SRU and that would be taken into consideration.

Still, Spike realized that Wordy at least thought he had something to worry about and he knew both Sam and Jules definitely had to worry about the fallout from their affair if Toth had found out about it. Yep, there were definitely changes afoot and not necessarily good ones. Spike knew change was inevitable; it was part of the job. Didn't mean he had to like it though.

He glanced at his watch, silently cursing as he realized he was now late for the briefing. He grabbed his binder in his right hand and winced as he transferred it roughly into the left before slamming the locker door shut. _One of these days I'm going to have to remember before shoving something into that hand that it's gouged all to Hell_, he thought to himself. He then hustled around the lockers toward the door, stopping in his tracks as his gaze fell on Lew's plaque. Once again, he considered quitting his job to appease his father. At least it would make the old man happy for the time he had left. He shook his head to clear it and tried to focus on the job now. If he didn't start doing that, it wouldn't matter anyway. He'd be off the team and probably out of SRU in a heartbeat. He exited the locker room at a jog and met his sergeant at the top of the stairs.

"Spike," Greg greeted him with a worried smile, "I was just coming to get you," he said before continuing softly. "How're you doing, buddy? You all right?"

The younger man nodded half-heartedly. "Yep, I'm good, boss," he replied, plastering the best smile he could muster on his face as he stepped up beside him. Greg gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he noticed the slight grin didn't come close to Spike's usual smile and the two of them entered the briefing room and took their seats.

Greg sat down at the head of the table where he usually sat. To his right was Donna Sabine who had run the team through the shoot house as well as their team and individual drills during the requalification.

"Hey, Spike," she smiled up at him as he took the seat between her and Jules. Wordy and Sam sat opposite their teammates with one chair empty to Parker's left.

"Okay, everybody," Greg got the meeting started as he dropped his binder down on the table in front of him. "First off, team and individual drill scores from Sunday's requalify – outstanding!" he smiled and gave them all a nod. "Team One still reigns supreme!" he exulted as he and Donna shared a smile.

Donna gave a conciliatory nod of her head as well. "Yep, you guys are still the best," she told them with a smile. She was a little surprised at the lack of enthusiasm as they all smiled politely back at her.

"Boy, you guys are tough crowd," joked Donna. She looked questioningly at Parker.

He smiled wryly at her and explained, "They're probably just waiting for the other shoe to drop." The smile faded and he looked at each of his team members in all seriousness.

"I'll be meeting with each of you individually to discuss your psych evaluations." He sighed as he tried to think of how to explain the why behind the how of those evaluations. If nothing else, he felt he owed them that.

"By now, you all know that I was the one to request an outside psychologist," he said. "I thought we needed an independent third party who could maintain objectivity. But, I didn't know it was going to be Toth," he continued a bit sadly, "and, believe me, I had no idea he was going to question you all the way he did." He paused to let that sink in before continuing.

"Commander Holleran, Dr. Toth and I have discussed the concerns that were raised during the evals and, as you've probably already guessed, there will be some adjustments made," he advised them.

While the mood in the room hadn't been exactly jovial to begin with, it was downright somber now. The four junior members of Team One sat staring either straight ahead, out the window or down that their hands. No one looked at anyone else and they all seemed to be recalling their own turns with the good Dr. Toth.

"That said," continued Greg, "with Ed out of commission for the foreseeable future, Donna will be taking his place as Acting Tactical Team Lead." All four heads shot up in unison to look with some surprise between their boss and Donna.

Greg raised his hands to placate them before the protests started. "Let me explain," he entreated. "With Ed out as well as the other adjustments we're all going to need to make, Commander Holleran and I thought it would be best to keep the big changes to a minimum. We've all formed a cohesive unit here and rather than disrupt that further by running recruitment trials and bringing in someone completely new, it was decided to bring Donna back temporarily, just until Ed comes back," he assured them.

"What if Ed doesn't come back?" asked Jules quietly. She had known about Sophie's ultimatum longer than any of the others, except Greg and she knew what she would have to do in his situation.

Greg sighed. He had hoped he wouldn't have to go there with the team just yet, but he should have known they would bring it up. They were a perceptive bunch that cared about each other like family. "If that happens, then we'll run recruitment trials and go from there. But, for now at least, we're going to take it one step at a time. This team is too good; we're not going to go out of our way to mess it up.

"Donna has worked with all of us before, with the exception of Jules, and it worked out pretty well," he continued. "Donna's learned a lot on Team Three and she's worked closely with Ed recently on upgrading her tactical skills, so she knows how he thinks almost as well as any us. So, what to you say we give her a chance, huh?"

Donna had been sitting quietly throughout this exchange. When Greg paused for a long moment, she took the opportunity to speak.

"Look guys, we've done this dance before," she smiled disarmingly at them all. "This is only temporary for me. I've already got a spot on Team Three that I will be more than happy to get back to, not that I don't like working with all of you," she quickly interjected.

"The point is, I don't want to take anyone else's place on this team," she continued. "You guys are the best because you've been together for so long, you all know how each one of you is going to react. I don't want to break that up any more than you do." She waited until the other four nodded their acknowledgement before turning and nodded to Greg herself.

"Okay, now that that's settled, on to more immediate business," Greg tried to refocus the group. "We are still off active rotation for today. We go back on active duty tomorrow, which means today we get to do the not so fun stuff," he was quickly cut off by Sam.

"You mean the requalify and the last few days were supposed to be fun?" he asked sarcastically. "You should have mentioned that beforehand."

Greg gave him a slightly exasperated look before continuing. "Like I said, the not so fun stuff, like cleaning, inventorying and restocking the supply locker. Let's start with that, okay?" he nodded as the four junior officers groaned.

Donna stood up and clapped her hands. "Come one, guys!" she said. "At least you didn't have to do it last month after Team Four got their chow hooks all over everything. It's not that bad this time."

"Spike," Greg nodded to the young bomb technician, "stick around. We'll go over your psych eval," he said. He noticed Spike looked a little fearful as he nodded reluctantly.

"Donna, would you mind closing the door when you leave, please?" Greg asked the young woman who nodded once and went to stand by the door.

Wordy, Sam and Jules all stood up and moved slowly toward the door. Donna joined them, punching the button that would close the metal door, as they made their way as a group to the supply locker.

With the others gone and the door closed, Greg motioned Spike closer and the young man moved to take the seat vacated by their new acting team leader. He hunched forward apprehensively, leaning on his elbows and looking down at his hands. Spike was fairly confident he had blown the psych eval between his admitted guilt regarding Lew's death and the ongoing feud with his father.

"Hey, Spike," Greg called to him softly, "How're you really doing, buddy?" he asked. All he got in response was a shrug. The young man didn't speak or even look up.

"How's your father?" asked Greg. Again a simple shrug.

"He's coming home today," Spike answered quietly and hazarded a glance at his boss, not surprised that Sarge seemed genuinely interested. He sat back with a sigh and tried to relax.

"That's good to hear," Greg said. "Did you ever get a chance to talk to him, try to work things out?" he asked.

Spike just chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "I went to see him in the hospital yesterday," he explained. He looked at his boss. "It didn't go so well," he admitted. He looked down at his hands in his lap. He had begun scratching at his left palm again. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice soft and plaintive, "He won't even look at me anymore, boss!"

Greg looked out the window for a moment, his heart breaking for the young man. Sighing, he gave Spike's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Ah, Spike," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

He let his friend grieve in silence for a few minutes before giving his shoulder another squeeze. "Do you need some time off?" asked Greg. "Maybe if you're home when he gets there, at least it's another chance," he suggested.

Spike shook his head. "I don't know, boss," he said. "I just don't know how much more I can take." He looked out the window at downtown Toronto in the distance.

"You know, boss," he said, "before that psych eval, I had no problem whatsoever separating work and home. No problem at all." He looked over at Parker. "And, as long as I could do that I was fine. I could deal," he said.

Looking back out the window he continued, "Now, I don't even know what I'm doing. I feel like I'm coming apart, you know," he explained, shaking his head. "I don't know what to do," he admitted.

"Why don't you take the afternoon off, Spike," said Greg. "Give it one more try with your father. If it doesn't work out, at least you know you tried your best." He squeezed Spike's shoulder one last time before leaning in close.

"And, Spike," he waited until the young man was looking him in the eyes, "if you need anything, someone to listen, a shoulder to lean on, or even a couch to crash on, anything at all, you call me, understand?" When Spike nodded, he checked his watch, stood and grabbed his binder.

"No offense, boss," replied Spike, "but, if I'm going to crash anywhere, it'll probably be with Bridget." He flashed a slight smirk. "She's better looking than you, no offense," he said.

They shared a quiet chuckle as they left the briefing room. Greg was glad to see at least a little bit of humor in his friend's eyes. He asked Spike to send Sam up to one of the smaller meeting rooms and made his way to it to get ready for his next meeting.

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**A/N**: Well that's it for now. As always, please let me know what you think. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter done by the end of the week! Thanks and don't forget to review! _**- Psy**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer**: I think we all know by now that I don't own Flashpoint and probably never will. Oh well.

**Author's Note**: As always, thanks to everyone who has read this and especially to those of you who have reviewed. Special thanks today to Ace Bullets for giving me Mrs. Scalrati's first name (Michelina). My copy of the ep cuts off after the second executive producer's credit and I couldn't find her listed on , , , or even the Flashpoint Facebook page. So, thanks, Ace!

I'm not sure I got Sam's review quite right here, but I think I did all right with the rest of it. You'll just have to let me know one way or the other. Thanks again, _**Psy**_

* * *

Spike walked slowly, lost in thought, through the main hall of HQ, past the locker rooms until he arrived at the supply locker and informed Sam that he was up next. After telling him which briefing room Parker was in, he took the rope Sam had been coiling and started where the other man had left off. He finished coiling the length of rope, tied it off and placed it back on its hook before reaching for the next tangled length. He worked silently for a while. Jules and Wordy shared concerned glances while Donna, though curious to know what was up with the normally ebullient bomb technician, gave him some space. She had gotten to know him during her previous stint with Team One and she knew he would eventually snap out of whatever was bothering him. Still, as they worked the other three periodically tried to draw him out.

Sam rapped his knuckles a couple of times on the door of the small room situated at one end of the main briefing room. Whereas the main briefing room could easily accommodate an entire task force, including at least two full SRU teams, this one was barely big enough for four people. Sergeant Parker sat at the small table looking over his notes. He looked up at the sound of Sam's knock, nodded and waved the young man in.

"Hey, Sam," greeted Greg, "why don't you close the door and take a seat?" He closed the file he had been reading, placing it underneath his binder, and waited, flashing a quick smile at the ex-soldier in an attempt to put him at ease.

"Did you get any rest on your two days off?" Greg asked. Sam shrugged a shoulder but didn't say anything as he waited for his boss to mete out his punishment for violating sacred SRU rules.

When he realized the young sniper wasn't going to answer, Greg looked him in the eyes. "Okay, Sam," he started. "Dr. Toth had a few issues where you're concerned." He opened the binder and glanced down at his handwritten notes.

"Let me guess," interjected Sam, "because of my previous romantic relationship with Jules, Toth wants one or both of us off the team, right?" he looked back at his boss with a wry smile.

Greg sighed and tilted his head to one side. He, too, flashed a wry grin and raised his eyebrows. Nodding, he said, "He did mention that there was cause to dismiss one or both of you from SRU." He admitted. "He also said there was more cause to dismiss me for turning a blind eye."

He paused to let that information sink in. He wanted the team to know that they weren't the only ones on the hot seat because of the psych evaluations.

"Dr. Toth also mentioned that he was concerned about your seeming lack of negotiation skills."

Sam openly scoffed. "Well, there's a surprise," he joked, "the military sniper finds it difficult to negotiate with subjects. What did the good doctor recommend for that?" he asked. He had known that was an issue from day one. The question as far as he could tell was did his superiors think he was making adequate progress to improve those skills?

"His recommendation was to keep you as far away from subjects as possible and increase negotiation training until you improve enough to try again with a live subject," Greg explained dryly.

"There are other ways to do it, of course, and I mentioned that you had taken the initiative yourself with the bank incident when you volunteered to be my second and that you learned a lot that day. I think we can do some more cross-training in that regard which will help you."

He paused before offering with a chuckle, "Besides, I think Spike might appreciate getting out of the truck once in while." Greg was glad to see Sam smile and nod at that as well.

The smile left Sam's face, though, as he thought about the biggest worry he had and looked across the table in all seriousness. "So, Boss," he asked, "about me and Jules?" He shrugged. "What's the final word?"

Greg mirrored the look on the blond man's face. "The initial recommendation was that one or both of you should be reassigned, preferably outside of SRU," he admitted. "Toth suggested that one or both of you would jeopardize the Priority of Life Code because of your feelings for each other."

Sam nodded. "So, which one of us is leaving SRU?" he asked dejectedly.

When Greg didn't answer right away, his eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead. "Or, are we both leaving?" Sam sat slouching slightly in the chair, one elbow on the table. The tense expression and nervous drumming of his fingers belied the seemingly relaxed pose.

Greg looked him in the eyes. "I'm not going to lie to you, Sam," he told the young man. "It's possible that one of you may at some point be reassigned." He paused for a moment. "But, as I said in the briefing earlier, for the time being, we're keeping the team intact."

Sam thought about that for a minute or two. "So, what do we have to do to avoid being reassigned?" he asked.

"Simple," replied Parker, "be professional, respect each other and your teammates. Just follow the rules," he said with a shrug. He paused before sighing and continued, "If you two get back together, you have to report it."

Sam sighed, "And one of us will have to be reassigned, right?" he asked.

Greg nodded.

"Anything else?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," Greg replied. "A formal reprimand will be put in your permanent file. And," he continued, "you'll have to retake a training course on the SRU employment policies." Sam groaned. He hated those stupid training courses. They were always boring and you never really learned anything. The policies were mostly just common sense anyway. Besides, he had known the policy regarding romantic relationships. He had simply ignored it.

"And," his boss continued. "If another unreported relationship with an SRU officer comes to light, you will be subject to discipline up to and including dismissal from the SRU," he intoned, quoting the SRU manual verbatim just as Holleran had done during his own review.

"Right," Sam sighed in resignation. "No romantic relationships among SRU members. Got it."

Greg closed the binder. "Any questions?"

"Is Jules getting a reprimand, too?" asked Sam uncomfortably, though he already knew she would be. He felt horrible; she didn't deserve this, he thought. It was all his fault.

Greg tilted his head to the side, "Sam, you know I can't discuss that with you."

Sam rubbed his face in his hands. "Yeah, I know, Boss," he admitted. "I also know she's getting one, too." He looked up at the sergeant and shook his head. "It's all my fault."

It was Parker's turn to shake his head. "Jules makes her own decisions, Sam," he said. "You didn't put a gun to her head. If she didn't have feelings for you in the first place, there wouldn't have been any relationship for you two to keep secret."

"Yeah, I know," replied Sam, "but, I'm the one who pushed it." He was silent again for a few minutes.

"Any other questions?" asked Greg.

Sam shook his head, "No," he said.

"Okay, that's it then. Thanks, Sam," said Parker. "Would you mind sending Jules up next?"

"Sure thing, Boss," replied Sam as he stood up and left to find his teammate. He found her taking a short break from the supply locker, getting a drink of water from the fountain outside the rest rooms.

"Hey, Sam," greeted Jules as she stepped back from the fountain. "How'd it go?"

He shrugged, "better than I expected, actually." He paused. "And, worse," he said, thinking about the formal reprimand. They shared a look, each of them going back to their conversations from the beginning of the week.

"So," asked Jules, "is one of us leaving SRU?"

Sam just smiled enigmatically. "Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the fun of hearing it first-hand from the boss," he said as he stepped around her and headed toward the supply locker to help finish the job. Jules watched him walk away, a confused look on her face. She shook her head, turned around and walked with her head held high to meet her fate. She found the boss in the small briefing room and she walked right in, closing the door behind her and taking a seat. Jules was never one to beat around the bush. She preferred to face things head on.

Jules' review was the shortest thus far, but only because Parker hadn't actually gotten to the meat of Spike's review. He could tell that the young man was in no shape emotionally to deal with it. As far as Jules was concerned, though, the only issue Toth had had with her was the relationship with her teammate. The doctor had been generally impressed with the young woman. His only concern was the fact that she and Sam clearly still had feelings for each other and the effect those feelings could have on the team and potential calls.

Parker told her the same thing he'd told Sam, that a formal reprimand would be added to her permanent record and that she also would be required to retake the SRU employment policies training course. She was just as thrilled about that as her ex-boyfriend was. However, just as before, she took it with her chin up, unflinching, keeping her eyes unwaveringly on her boss' eyes.

For her part, Jules was not surprised by the formal reprimand. She had actually been expecting one ever since the boss found out about her affair with Sam. And, while she certainly wasn't happy about it, there really wasn't much to say. They had broken the rules and had put the safety of the team at risk and they had to answer for that. She knew both of them could have been dismissed from the SRU; they could have been fired altogether. So, she took the reprimand for the gift it was. She at least had learned her lesson. Still, she wasn't sorry for the experience. She still loved Sam and she probably always would. And, though she knew it would forever be an albatross around her neck, at least as long as they worked together, she would never be sorry for that.

The team worked all morning and though they were still somewhat subdued, they did manage a little back and forth banter now and then. Wordy, Jules, and Sam all gave their younger partner a hard time about Bridget and even made him blush a couple of times. And, of course, Donna was curious to know the story. She had been on Team Three for almost a year when Spike and Lew had taken that vacation to Jamaica, so she hadn't been around to hear about Bridget or see her picture. Wordy told her about how Spike had immediately rifled through the vacation photos going straight to hers and Jules mentioned that Spike and Bridget had known each other in high school. Sam and Wordy, of course, told her that Bridget was hot and all three mentioned how impressed they had been at the hospital on Sunday with how nice she was and that she seemed perfect for their friend. Spike admitted to having a huge crush on her in high school and that they had had a great time in Jamaica. The more Spike talked about her, the more he relaxed and he even cracked a smile once or twice.

By the time they broke for lunch they had the supply locker back in shape. By then, Greg had spoken with both Sam and Jules and both had returned to help finish up. Jules told Wordy the boss would meet with him after lunch.

Spike went straight to his locker and started changing back into his street clothes while the others headed for the break room. Both Wordy and Donna had brought something from home, but Sam and Jules decided to order in. When they realized Spike hadn't joined them, Sam went looking for him.

"Hey, Spike," he called out to him as he stepped into the locker room. "You in here?"

"Yeah, Sam," answered Spike as he pulled up his jeans and fastened the button. "What's up?"

"Jules and I are gonna order a pizza; you want some?" Sam asked as he rounded the stand of lockers. "Where're you going?" he asked with surprise.

Spike shook his head. "No thanks, Sam," he said as he grabbed his shoes and put them on. "I've got something I've gotta go do. I'll see you guys tomorrow." He tied his shoes quickly, grabbed his bag and with a nod to his teammate he headed out to the parking lot.

Sam took the long way back to the break room, past the central dispatch desk and exercise room. He saw Parker talking to Winnie.

"Hey, Winnie, Boss," he said. "Jules and I are ordering a pizza, you want some?" he asked before addressing the sergeant. "I just saw Spike," he said, pointing back toward the locker room. "He's leaving for the day?" he asked, confused. _Didn't we just have two days off_? he thought.

Greg nodded, "That's right, Sam. He's taking some personal time this afternoon," he said. He didn't elaborate because, first of all it really wasn't any of Sam's business, and secondly, because he wasn't sure what, if anything, Spike had told his teammates about his father. They might not even know Spike's father had been in hospital and it wasn't his place to tell them.

"Okay," responded Sam. He looked between the boss and Winnie. "So, pizza?" he asked.

"Thanks anyway, Sam," Parker answered first. "But, I've got a lot of paperwork to do and it wouldn't look good if I got grease stains all over it, now would it?" he asked with a smile.

"You're loss, boss," Sam replied as he turned a questioning eye toward the dispatch officer. "Winnie?"

She smiled across the desk at him. "Sure, I'll take some pizza," she said. Sam handed her some cash and she reached under the desk for her purse to add her share. "I'll let you know when it gets here."

Sam returned the smile. "You're the best, Winnie!" he said as he turned and headed back to the break room. "That's why we love you!"

She laughed. "I'll bet you say that to all the dispatchers who accept food deliveries for you!"

"Only the pretty ones, Winnie," Sam turned and winked at her, "Only the pretty ones!" he waved as he turned the corner.

* * *

When Spike pulled up to his house, he was surprised to see a couple of extra cars parked in the driveway behind his father's. He checked the clock on the dashboard. It was only about 12:30PM. He hadn't expected his father to be released from the hospital until later in the day. He parked his car at the curb in front of the house and turned off the engine. He sat there for a few minutes gathering the strength he knew he needed to face his father one more time.

He got out of the car and walked to the back door, stopping to take a deep breath before reaching for the doorknob and turning it. Stepping through the door he found the kitchen empty, though he could hear voices toward the front of the house as he entered the hallway. He walked quietly to his room and stowed his bag. He was sorely tempted to just close the door and stay in there for the rest of the day. Of course, that would defeat the purpose of taking the afternoon off from work. He didn't think the Sarge would appreciate that, so he steeled himself and made his way down the hall toward the front of the house.

When he reached the living room, he found most of his immediate family gathered there. To his right, his sister Ana sat next to his father on the sofa while his two oldest brothers sat in the two chairs that were arranged opposite the sofa at either end of the large picture window. It appeared his mother had just served up drinks to his brothers; she still held the serving tray as she turned around.

"Mike!" she exclaimed and everyone in the room turned to look at him, everyone except his father, that is. "I didn't expect you home so early." Michelina Scarlatti said as she walked over to him. "Is everything all right?"

Spike looked over at his father who was staring straight ahead at the front window and swallowed hard. His throat suddenly felt bone dry.

"Mikey?" asked his mother again, "are you all right?"

Spike turned back to face her and nodded. "I'm fine, Mama," he said. "The boss gave me the afternoon off."

"Didn't you just have two days off, Mike?" asked his brother Vito. "That's a little unusual, isn't it?"

Spike sighed as he glanced back at his father before addressing Vito. "We don't go back on active duty until tomorrow," he explained. He looked back at his father. Dominic Scarlatti sat stone-faced, rigid and unmoving.

"So, I uh, figured I'd uh, I'd try to talk to Pa again."

Michelina gave him an encouraging smile and a kiss on the cheek. "I'll just go and get you some lemonade then, hmm?" she said as she moved past him and headed toward the kitchen.

Spike stepped into the living room, never taking his eyes off his father. His brothers and sister shared worried glances as they watched the family drama unfold. Vito had heard from Dom and Ana that Mike's attempt yesterday to talk things out had not gone well. They all sat in tense silence and waited for the proverbial fireworks to start.

Spike stood directly in front of his father who looked down for a second before standing up. He turned his head toward the hallway before looking back up and started to walk stiffly out of the room. At that moment, Spike felt a sharp pain in his chest as if his heart was literally breaking in two.

"You know, Pa," he said in a soft, shaky voice, "Whenever you turn away from me like this, it makes me feel like," he choked back a sob and took a hitched breath, "like I'm not even your son anymore!"

Dominic Scarlatti stopped, but didn't turn around. He remained rigidly straight; his eyes pointed resolutely ahead. He didn't even acknowledge his wife who had just returned from the kitchen, a glass of ice-cold lemonade in hand, a look of stunned sadness on her face. His brothers and sister all seemed to find the carpet suddenly fascinating.

Spike felt any fight he might have had left simply evaporate. Realizing he had nothing left, Spike shook his head and said miserably, "I can't do this anymore."

"You win, Pa," Spike shrugged his shoulders. "You want me to quit my job," he said. "Fine, I'll quit my job." His siblings all looked up at him in disbelief. Never had they thought they would ever hear those words come out of their baby brother's mouth.

Spike stepped around his father without looking at him, stopping at the edge of the hallway to face his mother. He looked morosely at her for a moment before turning back to look at his father.

"And, I'm moving out," he announced, hearing his mother's shocked gasp in response. Around the room, five pairs of eyes widened in astonishment. Spike saw his father's eyes widen for just a split second before returning to their previous stony glare. He waited for his father to say something, anything, but he just stood there like a statue, staring at the wall. Spike shook his head sadly and turned to leave the room.

* * *

**A/N**: I know, an evil cliffy! Don't kill me! Just let me know what you think. Thanks again, _**Psy**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer**: Still don't.

**Author's Note**: Wow, two chapters in one day! I thought about letting you all sweat the cliffy from the last chapter, but what can I say? This chapter's done, so here it is. Let me know what you all think! Thanks again for reading and reviewing! _**- Psy**_

**P.S.**: Just to warn you, there are a couple of swear words in this one. The first one is fairly innocuous, the second not so much. BTW, I used for the Italian translation again and as I recall, it worked going from Italian to English just fine. If not, PM me and I'll let you know what was said.

* * *

With their lunch break over, Sam, Jules and Donna changed into their workout clothes and hit the exercise room while Wordy headed reluctantly to the small briefing room. When he got there, the sarge was just popping the last bite of a sandwich into his mouth. Parker washed it down with a long draft from a bottle of Coke before wiping his hands on a napkin and depositing the sandwich wrapping into the wastebasket on the floor to his right. He then wiped up any crumbs and threw those away as well.

Greg looked up to see Wordy standing in the doorway and waved him in.

"Hey, Wordy," he smiled, "come on in and close the door, okay?" When Wordy was seated across the table from him, Parker took a good look at the tall young man. While he didn't look completely rested, he did look better than he had on Sunday night.

"How're you doing, everything okay?" Greg asked.

He wanted to ease into this review. Despite the issues surrounding Sam and Jules' relationship, he had actually found Wordy's and Spike's psych evaluations the hardest to deal with. With Sam and Jules, there was a clear-cut policy when it came to what they had done and while he didn't think it was an issue that would affect the team, he couldn't argue that sometimes it was just easier to fall back on procedure and protocol.

With Spike and Wordy, though, there wasn't anything they had or hadn't done. There was no policy, no procedure really, to follow when it came to the issues they were dealing with.

In Wordy's case, Toth had pointed out the shaky hand, the decreasing size of the handwriting, the insomnia and the distractedness and he had suggested there might be an underlying medical condition that needed attention. He suggested it was something that could easily pose a threat to the team's safety. Parker had insisted to both Toth and Holleran that he had seen no evidence of a problem and that one deliberately stressful psych evaluation did not mean that one existed. There was no reason to bench an officer based on one twenty-minute interrogation.

Wordy took a long minute to respond. "Good," he finally answered. He appeared a little nervous, as he had during the psych evaluation.

Greg smiled warmly at him. "Relax, buddy" he said, "it's just a routine review, nothing to worry about, okay?"

"Sure, boss," replied Wordy. _And, it was supposed to be just a routine requalify and psych eval_, he thought to himself. "Okay," he tried to smile back, but couldn't quite make it work.

"So," Greg tried again, "Anything you want to talk about before we get started?" he asked. When Wordy shook his head, he asked, "How're Shelley and the girls?"

"They're fine," answered Wordy as he dried sweaty palms on his pants. Try as he might, he couldn't relax.

"So, ah, how badly did I do with Toth?" Wordy chuckled nervously.

Greg smiled again. "There's no good or bad, Wordy, no pass, no fail," he assured the young man. "You know that," he added. When Wordy nodded his acknowledgement, Greg continued.

"However, Dr. Toth did express some concern about your health." Greg looked at his friend in all seriousness. He looked down at the table for a second, not really seeing the papers he had out. Shaking his head, he continued.

"I have to admit, Wordy, I… I didn't even notice that your scores on the gun range were down," he spoke sadly, wondering for at least the second time that week what kind of superior officer he was if he didn't even notice something like that.

"I had noticed the apparent lack of sleep," he continued, "but, like you said, you have a two-and-a-half-year-old who likes to keep you and your wife up at night." He flashed a wry smile. "Believe me, I know how that goes," he said.

"And, with the economy the way it is, with a wife, a mortgage and three small kids, I get it," he assured his officer. "Money's tight and getting tighter every day. It's a lot to worry about."

Wordy nodded, but couldn't think of anything to say that would help.

"Now," Greg looked down at his notes before looking back up at Wordy, "just because Dr. Toth thinks there could be a medical issue, that doesn't mean there really is. Of course, there's only one way to find out." He looked pointedly at the younger man.

Wordy cut in, nodding, "I know, boss," he said quickly. "I went to the doctor yesterday and got a complete physical." He paused. "I kind of figured that's where this was going to go," he smiled a little.

Parker smiled back at him and nodded. "Okay, Wordy, that's good," he said. "Anything we need to worry about?" he asked.

Wordy hesitated slightly before answering. "We're waiting for results of the blood tests, but so far, the doctor said he couldn't say for sure what it might be," he said, deciding to leave out the doctor's suggestion of what it could be.

"He referred me to a specialist, but it's going to be about three weeks before I can get in to see them," he continued. "But, the doctor didn't see any immediate problems."

Greg nodded, thankful that Wordy had taken the initiative to get it checked out. He knew how scared he would be to go to the doctor if he were in Wordy's shoes. It was easier to ignore a potential problem and pretend there was nothing wrong than to have your worst fears confirmed. Then again, sometimes a relatively simple problem could turn into your worst fear if you let it go for too long. He only hoped that wasn't the case here.

"Okay, good," he smiled. "Well, Toth's first recommendation was that you get a complete physical, which you've already taken care of, so, that's one down."

"What else did he recommend?" asked Wordy.

Greg shook his head, "Only that we keep a close eye on things. Now, Wordy," he looked seriously across the table, "I'm going to be counting on you to let me know if any of your symptoms get worse," he said. "I know you would never knowingly do anything to jeopardize your teammates or anyone else, so I don't expect that to be a problem."

Wordy nodded, "You got it, boss," he said. "Anything else?"

Greg shook his head, "That was it; except I'll need to know when your appointment with the specialist is so I can make sure you get the time off to go." Wordy nodded and gave him the information.

"So, did you have any questions for me?" asked Greg.

Wordy shook his head, "Not really," he said, "except whether you'd heard anything about Ed or Sophie?"

"Not since Monday," answered Greg. "You?" He knew Wordy and Ed, as well as their families, were fairly close. They were the only two on the team with families at home.

"We saw them last night," Wordy told him. "Ed's up and walking around, at least a little bit. I think they're going to transfer him to a regular ward soon, maybe today or tomorrow."

Greg smiled, "That's good to hear," he said. "What about Sophie and the baby?" he asked.

"Shelley told me they'll be taking Sophie off the suppression drugs today, so she could go into labor again as early as some time tonight," Wordy responded in a worried tone. He knew they weren't out of the woods yet as far as the baby was concerned.

They talked about the Lanes for a few more minutes before Greg ended the review. It had gone slightly better than he had expected and he was glad for that. He and Wordy made their way to the locker room to change into their workout clothes and joined Sam, Jules and Donna in the exercise room. After about an hour-and-a-half, they all headed to the showers and finished their shift on the gun range.

* * *

Out in Woodbridge, Spike had just informed his family that he would quit his job to make his father happy and that he would be moving out of his parents' home. He had always planned to move out on his wedding day, just as his older siblings had and as Italian tradition dictated.

"Mikey! No!" his mother cried through the fingers of the hand that had reflexively covered her mouth at his pronouncement.

Spike turned to look at her. "I'm sorry, Mama," he told her softly, "but, I have to leave."

He looked back at his father and spoke through gritted teeth, "I can't live like this."

With that, he turned and started walking back toward his room. He had taken only a couple of steps down the hallway when he heard someone come through the front door. He heard his brother Marco greet the rest of the family with a hearty "Ciao!" before asking what he'd missed as soon as he noticed all the stunned expressions. Spike heard Vito give Marco the news that he had decided to quit his job after all. He was almost to his bedroom door when he heard Marco's response.

"Well, it's about damn time he came to his senses, eh, Pa?" Marco said.

At that, Dominic Scarlatti turned and just stared at Marco for a few long moments, his expression unreadable.

Spike got to his room and grabbed his work duffle from the floor where he had left it and tossed it roughly onto the bed. Unzipping it quickly, he moved to the dresser, opened the top drawer and started removing any items he would need in the short term and tossing them at the bag. He decided to take what he needed now; he would have to come back for the rest of his things later. He didn't even know where he was going to end up tonight.

Back in the living room, Vito, Dom and Ana all glared at Marco who looked back at them, oblivious.

"What?" he asked with a shrug.

Michelina Scarlatti stared at her husband; she was devastated. "Tu aggiusti questo!" she demanded before bursting into tears. Vito and Dom rushed to her side. Vito took the glass of lemonade from her hand before she could drop it and the two of them guided her to the nearest chair while doing their best to console her.

Marco looked around the room in total confusion. He would have thought his family would be happy Mike had decided to do the right thing and quit his job.

"Okay," he asked, "what else did I miss?"

Vito shot him a disgusted look. "Mike also said he's moving out," he said.

"Mikey's getting married?" asked Marco incredulously. "I didn't even know he was dating anyone!"

Vito shook his head, "Mike isn't getting married, you idiot!"

"Then why's he moving out?" Again, Vito shot him a disgusted look.

His mother choked back a sob, waving Vito and Dom away from her. She stood up and stepped into the hallway, stopping to look her husband directly in the eyes.

"Tu aggiusti questo!" she repeated before heading toward the back of the house. She paused for a moment outside Mike's room and watched as he threw clothes into his duffle bag. He turned back toward the bed and saw her out of the corner of his eye. He stopped to look at her, shaking his head and fighting back tears himself.

"Io sono spiacente, Mamma," he managed to choke out the apology and went back to packing his things. His mother started crying again and continued down the hall to the master bedroom. A few minutes later, he was standing at the bed, his back to the door, shoving into the duffle everything that had missed on the first toss when he heard a soft knock on the doorjamb. He paused.

"Not now," he said without turning around. When he didn't hear a reply, he went back to what he was doing. A few seconds later, he heard the door close behind him.

"Michelangelo." Spike heard his father's voice directly behind him.

Spike's voice was hard, "Leave me alone, Pa."

"Fermi," said his father. But, instead of stopping, Spike picked up the pace and started slamming things angrily into the duffle bag.

"Fermi, Michelangelo!" Dominic repeated. "Basta!" he said a moment later when Spike still didn't stop. He stepped forward and grabbed his son's hands. "Basta!"

Spike stared resolutely down at the bag. He knew if he looked at his father, he would want to punch his lights out.

"Sit down," his father said softly as he patted Spike's hands.

Spike shook his head. "Why, Pa?" he asked. "What's the point?"

His father started clearing a spot on the edge of the bed and sat down. He hung his head and tried to think of a way to fix this thing between them before he lost his son forever. He patted the bed beside him.

"Sit down, Mike. Please?" pleaded Dominic, his pain-filled voice almost whisper-soft.

Spike just stood there for a long moment before complying. Just as he had predicted, he was already starting to resent his father for pushing him to the breaking point. And, he knew the guilt he would feel for it wasn't far behind. It would most likely hit him when he tried to go to sleep tonight. He remained silent and did his best to control his breathing as he stared at a spot in the carpet worn almost bare by the door.

Dominic Scarlatti cast his eyes heavenward and lifted a silent prayer for divine inspiration, or was it divine intervention? All he knew was that he obviously couldn't fix this on his own. He had tried before, but still he couldn't stop himself from hurting his son. In the silence that enveloped the room, he heard a still, small voice in his head whisper to him, "Let it go." His heart constricted at the thought and he sent up another silent prayer asking, "How?" He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to overtake him.

After a few moments in silence, Dominic took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He patted Spike's leg and forced himself to look at his son.

"You're not going anywhere," he said matter-of-factly. "And," he hesitated just a bit before continuing, "You're not going to quit your job, either."

He shook his head. "I should have listened to your mother long ago," he spoke quietly. "I should have listened to you."

He reached out and tentatively placed his hand on Spike's shoulder. Shaking his head sadly, he said, "I'm sorry, Michelangelo. I'm a stubborn old man… a frightened, stubborn old man. And, I'm sorry."

Spike almost couldn't believe his ears. Did his father actually just apologize to him? Spike didn't know whether to be relieved or angry. Seriously, after all these years of détente between them, now all of a sudden he's sorry? After almost a full year of not speaking to him, of not even looking at him, all of a sudden he's okay with the law enforcement career? _Are you kidding me?_ thought Spike to himself. _What the fuck?_

He shook his head. "Hell, Pa, if I'd known all it would take was a threat to move out of the house, I'd have done it years ago!" admitted Spike with equal parts anger and disbelief.

Dominic chuckled, "How could you know when I didn't know myself?" he asked.

"All this time," Spike said, "all this time you won't speak to me. You won't even look at me, can't even stand to be in the same room with me…" he paused and shook his head again.

"Why now, Pa?" he asked, trying to understand. "What changed all of a sudden, other than my saying I was moving out?" He asked. "Was that really all it took?" He looked at his father, surprised when the old man maintained eye contact.

They both turned to look as they heard something bump the door on the other side. Spike could hear a whispered voice, possibly his brother Vito, speaking softly to someone, but couldn't make out what was said.

In the hallway, Vito Scarlatti was speaking softly. "They're not screaming at each other and I don't think Mike's shot Pa yet," he said, "I think they're actually talking!" before moving away from the door.

Back in the bedroom, both Spike and his father returned to silence. Spike stared at the worn bit of carpet again. His father, too, stared at the floor in front of the bedroom door. After a few minutes, Spike tried again. "Why the change of heart now, Pa?" he asked with a shrug of his shoulder.

His father leaned in close, but continued to stare at the spot on the floor. "Don't tell your brothers or sister I said this," he spoke conspiratorially, "but when Marco is the only one in the family who agrees with me…" he tilted his head a bit and shrugged, "eh…I have to consider that maybe there's something wrong in my thinking," he admitted. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes at Spike who snorted out a laugh. With a small smile, Spike glanced out of the corner of his eyes as well, and the two shared a bemused look. It almost felt like old times.

"There's nothing wrong with your thinking, Pa," said Spike as he shook his head a bit. "You wanted me to quit my job because you're scared I'm going to get hurt or killed." He knew it really was that simple.

His father thought for a moment. "Then the problem is with my fear, then," he offered.

Again, Spike shook his head. "No, how can your feelings be wrong? If that's how you feel, then that's how you feel. There's nothing wrong with that. Besides, it's a legitimate fear. I can't deny that."

"So, the problem must be…what, then?" asked his father.

Spike looked at him, again surprised that his father was looking back. "It's not your thinking or your feelings, Pa," he said, "It's what you did with them." He paused and looked back at the floor. He shrugged and sighed. "I know Ma's just as scared about losing me as you are," he said. "But, she never turned her back on me."

Dominic pulled his son into a one-armed hug and apologized again. Spike rested his head on his father's shoulder and his father kissed the top of his head before reaching around with his other arm and hugging his son tighter. For the umpteenth time that week, Spike felt tears welling up in his eyes and this time he didn't even try to fight them.

"I've missed you, Pa," he cried softly as he wrapped his arms around his father's waist. "I'm sorry!"

Dominic shushed him, his own tears falling on Spike's short-cropped hair. "It's my fault, Mikey, all my fault," he said before kissing his son's head again.

When they'd cried it all out, the two sat there and talked for some time. They heard movement in the kitchen and still they talked. It wasn't until the smell of Michelina's lasagna reached them that they realized they'd been in here far too long. They stood up and Dominic pulled his son into another tight embrace before letting him go. He cupped his son's face in his hands and looked him directly in the eyes.

"I love you, Michelangelo," he said. "You do know that?" He didn't sound at all sure.

Spike nodded, "I know, Pa. You know I love you, too, right?"

Dominic smiled and nodded. He looked down at the chaos on the bed, with the open duffle and all the clothes strewn about. "We sure did make a mess, didn't we?" he asked, not just referring to the clothes. He started folding a now wrinkled t-shirt, but Spike grabbed it out of his hands and tossed it back on the bed.

"I'll get it later, Pa," offered Spike. "Let's go see what else Mama's cooking up for dinner."

The two shared another small smile and finally exited the bedroom. Upon seeing the two of them enter the kitchen, father's hand on son's shoulder, Michelina Scarlatti let out a squeal of relief and hurried over to them. She nearly smothered each of them in turn with what Spike had always referred to as her 'mama bear' hug before taking first Spike's face in both of her hands and kissing both cheeks and then doing the same to her husband and then repeating the hugs.

Except maybe for Marco, who sat there utterly confused, the entire family was all smiles as they prepared to eat, happy as they were that the two most stubborn Scarlattis had finally buried the hatchet.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, folks, there you have it. Maybe I'm not so evil after all. What do ya think? Thanks again for reading and reviewing! _**- Psy**_


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer**: Yeah, I think we all know by now that I don't own Flashpoint.

**Author's Note**: Okay, I think this one might actually be it for this story, though I may write a little epilogue to tie everything up nice and neat. But, you'll have to let me know if that's what you want. In case I don't write one, though, I just want to say thanks to everyone who has read this and special thanks go to all of you have reviewed. Your comments and support have definitely boosted my ego and made me think that maybe I'm not so bad at writing fiction (even dialogue). So, thank you all!

Oh, and for FanFictionFan63 - I now have a little Spike and Bridget thing bouncing around in my head. It may only be a one-shot, maybe more (maybe even a whole story if I can come up with something to work around it), I don't know yet. It may even be more explicitly smutty, I don't know. But, look for it possibly in a few weeks. I only say that because we've got our District Pinewood Derby coming up in a couple of weeks and in addition to helping our Cub Scouts with a workshop, I also have to figure out how to carve a dragon out of a block of balsa wood for by semi-truck. (It's a good thing the hubster's building my car!)

* * *

Sergeant Greg Parker and Constables Kevin Wordsworth and Sam Braddock greeted each other as they converged on the men's locker room at SRU headquarters. It had been a long week despite the fact that they had had two days off and an additional day spent on reviews and putzing around the station. It was their first day on active duty since the requalification and Ed Lane's shooting and the men were practically itching for some action. Constables Donna Sabine and Jules Callaghan waved to the three of them as they came down the steps and made their way to their own locker room to change.

The men were surprised to see their teammate, Spike, already in uniform when they arrived. Spike was just tying his bootlaces and he stood up as the others greeted him.

"Hey, Spike," Greg nodded to him, "How're you doing today? Everything okay?" he asked. He tried to take a good look at the young man without being too obvious about it. Greg was glad to see Spike looking better rested this morning than he had the day before. He also seemed a bit calmer as well, as if a weight had been lifted or a difficult decision made. Greg knew the situation at the Scarlatti residence was quickly becoming untenable for Spike and he wondered if the bomb technician had been able to resolve things with his father or whether Spike had simply decided to move out.

Spike turned to the sergeant. "Hey, Boss," he nodded, "Yeah, I'm good." He flashed a small smile as he grabbed his new cell phone from the shelf and closed the locker. He had finally admitted defeat after spending several hours over the last two-and-a-half days trying to repair his shattered phone and had gone out last night to purchase a new one. The good news was that he was able to upgrade to one of the newer Android phones with a larger hi-res screen. The bad news was that it cost him an extra hundred-and-fifty bucks and another two-year contract. Apparently, the insurance policy he had purchased didn't cover a device being thrown against a wall and the sales rep didn't think the repair depot would buy that he had simply dropped it, not that Spike would have lied about it just to save a little money. Still, he was tempted to hand his brother Marco a bill for the new phone; he knew Marco wouldn't pay it, though, so why bother?

Spike nodded to Sam and Wordy and made his way out of the locker room, grabbing his binder from the bench. He wanted to get to the briefing room early and call Bridget before she left for work and tell her all about his eventful afternoon. He hadn't talked to her since Monday night and he found himself missing her company. Besides, when his father had learned that she had been around, he had insisted Spike invite her for dinner and Spike wasn't about to argue with him again.

After detouring to the break room for a bottle of water, he entered the briefing room. He set his binder and water on the table, this time choosing one of the chairs along the window side, before dialing his new girlfriend. He paused to consider that for a moment as he sat down and swiveled around to look out the windows. For the longest time, his 'girlfriend' had been the SRU bomb disposal robot he had dubbed Babycakes. Between his job and the need to keep up on technology and security updates, he didn't really have time for a girlfriend. Then there was the fact that he lived with his parents and that his father wouldn't speak to him. It could have made for some awkward moments with any women. For some reason, though, the title seemed to fit Bridget, even if they hadn't been on an actual date yet. He smiled as she picked up on the third ring.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, babe, I didn't wake you did I?" asked Spike a little nervously. He wasn't sure how late she had worked yesterday or what shift she had to work today.

"_Hi, Mike, how are you?"_ Bridget asked, _"No, you didn't wake me. In fact, I just got back from my morning run. How's your dad? Were able to work things out with him?"_

Spike chuckled softly, "Yeah," he said, drawing it out thoughtfully, "it didn't start out too well," he smiled as he thought back to the confrontation in the living room. "The boss gave me the afternoon off yesterday and the whole family was in the living room when I got home, well, everybody but Marco anyway and he showed up right at the good part." He explained.

"_Yeah, what happened?"_

"When I tried to talk to my father he did what he's done for the last year; he got up and started to leave the room without even looking at me." Bridget could hear the pain in his voice over the phone.

"_Oh, Mike, I'm sorry,"_ she said. _"I can't believe your father would do that to you!"_

"Yeah, well, that was it. I just snapped," Spike continued. "I just got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore, you know?" he said. He didn't hear the others walk into the briefing room.

"So, I just told my father, 'you win'," he shrugged, "I told him, 'you want me to quit my job, fine, I'll quit my job."

Just like the previous day, five pairs of eyes widened in shock at the overheard revelation. The rest of Team One looked at each other, stunned to say the least. Only Parker had known how bad the situation between Spike and his father had become. He closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest, and took a deep breath.

"Yeah, so then I told him I'm going to move out; Marco showed up just as I left the room to pack my stuff."

Greg sighed deeply causing Spike to spin around in his chair.

"Oh, hey guys!" Spike smiled a little nervously and held up an index finger, "one second," he said and he turned back to his phone conversation.

"Listen, Bridget, I'm sorry, but I gotta go," he apologized. "Dinner tonight?" he asked quickly, glancing back at his team. "Great! I'll call you when I get off shift, okay? ... Okay…Yeah … bye!" He ended the call and set the phone down on the table before looking back sheepishly at his team.

"Sorry, guys" he apologized again. "I just wanted to call Bridget before she left for work, you know?"

He noticed they were all staring at him with stunned expressions. "What's ah…what's wrong?" he asked.

"You're quitting?" Jules was the first to find her voice, her tone almost accusatory. It was bad enough they had lost Ed, though she hoped it wasn't permanent. The thought of losing Spike, too, was unbearable. Who would keep them sane with his techno babble and geeky jokes when all hell was breaking lose?

"What?" asked Spike taken a little aback until he realized what they must have overheard. He held up his cell phone. "Oh, wait, you heard that?" he asked. They just stood there staring at him.

"No, no, no, I'm uh, I'm not quitting," Spike assured them, smiling.

"But," Wordy began, "you told your father you would quit your job?" He, too was having a hard time wrapping his head around the news. Wordy just hoped he hadn't contributed to Spike's decision to leave.

Spike nodded, "Yeah, I did."

"So, you are quitting?" asked Sam.

Spike shook his head and smiled. It was the first one to reach his eyes in quite a while. "Nope," he said.

Greg shook his head, "Wait, you lied to father then?" That was something he would not have expected from the young man.

"No, I wasn't lying," Spike shook his head again. "When I said I would quit my job, I meant it."

"But, now you're not quitting," stated Donna, though it seemed more of a question. She had seen just how tough a time they all had had during the requalifying drills, but never for a moment had she thought this team was so close to simply imploding. She thought back to the individual drill when Spike had cut his hand. Afterward, he had seemed genuinely annoyed that Wordy would even suggest that he could leave the team. So, the fact that he had actually considered it was a shock to her.

"No," Spike sighed, realizing he was going to have to explain everything to them. "See, ever since Lew died, my father's been giving me the cold shoulder. Every time I would walk into a room, he'd ah, get up and leave. He wouldn't say a word, just get up and leave." He paused, the pain of his father's rejection evident in his expression as well as his voice. The smile had left his face and he spoke slower. "And, for the last, I don't know, six months at least, he wouldn't even look at me if he didn't have to.

"So, when I got home yesterday and tried to talk to him, tried to work things out…," Spike sighed again. He was no longer looking at them, but at a spot on the glass wall behind them. He shrugged, "… he ah, got up and started to walk out of the room again. And, I ah, I realized I just couldn't do it anymore."

He looked at each of them and shrugged again, "So, I told him I'd quit SRU," he finished, his voice soft and hesitant.

Greg stepped up to the table and set his binder down on it. "But, you're not quitting?" he clarified.

Spike shook his head. "No. After I said I would quit, I told him I was moving out and went into my room to pack; my father came in a few minutes later and… I don't know … he just started talking." He looked at his boss and shrugged, a slight smile gracing his features. "We worked it all out, so I'm not quitting."

Greg nodded and smiled, "That's great, Spike," he said. "I'm glad you were able to patch things up with him."

"Yeah," agreed Spike with a smile, "that makes two of us," he said. He and Parker sat down, the movement prompting the rest of the team to take their seats as well.

Wordy grinned at his younger teammate. "So, Spike," he said, "did I hear correctly? You have a date with the lovely nurse Bridget tonight?" he teased. His grin grew wider as a blush covered his friend's face.

Sam and Jules joined in with a little good-natured ribbing themselves and Spike's smile grew, too, even though he was embarrassed as he felt his ears tingle with the warmth of his now reddened skin. He bit his lip and ducked his head as he laughed. He scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah, my father insisted I bring her over tonight after my mother and brother couldn't stop talking about her last night," he said.

"Wait, you're taking this girl to dinner… at your parent's house? So, how long have you been dating her?" asked Donna. She had never heard him mention her before, hadn't heard of her at all until the day before.

"Uhm, well," Spike hesitated before saying, "actually, we uh, we haven't gone on an official date ah, yet."

"You're taking her home to your parent's house on your first date?" Donna couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Why would you do that?"

Greg raised a hand in Spike's defense. "I don't know," he allowed, "I guess if he wanted to impress her with great food, it would be tough to beat his mother's home cooking," he smiled as Spike nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

The team debated the wisdom of taking someone home to meet the parents on the first date until Kira came in from the dispatch desk a few minutes later. The week had seemed a little slow without the top team around, she thought. Kira smiled and listened to the banter as they tried to determine the optimum length of time one should actually date someone before bringing them home to meet mom and dad.

"Hey, guys," she spoke loudly to get their attention as she stepped over to stand beside the team sergeant. She held up a slip of paper. "I just got a call from Clark Lane." All talking stopped as they turned their complete attention to her.

"He said his dad's being moved to a regular ward today," she said, "and his mom just went into labor again. So far, both mom and baby are fine. He says he'll call back as soon as he has any other news."

The team shared tentative smiles. They were happy to hear that Ed was doing well enough to leave the CICU, but they were still worried about the baby and Sophie.

"That's great news, Kira! Thanks," said Greg as he smiled up at her. "Keep us posted?" he asked.

"Copy that," she smiled. "It's good to have Team One back!"

After Kira returned to the dispatch desk, Greg called the group to order. "Okay, people, I'd say it's about time we got back to work, don't you?" He looked around the table at each team member, smiling when he saw they were all clear-eyed, focused, and seemed ready to take on whatever challenges the day would bring.

"Should a hot call come in, we'll be the primary team today, so let's make sure the trucks are fully loaded and ready to go. Once we take care of that, to get us back in the swing of things, I figured we'd go out on patrol.

"Sam and Donna, take East," he started divvying up assignments. "Wordy, you and Jules take West, and Spike and I'll take North."

Greg stood up and dismissed the team to get ready for patrol. "Okay, that's it for now. Let's keep the peace!"

As the others filed out of the briefing room, Greg looked over at Spike. "Since we never really went over your psych eval yesterday, we'll do that while we patrol, okay?"

Spike's expression stayed neutral though his eyes widened a bit as he nodded his assent. He had been seriously hoping he had managed to skip that whole process, but for some reason, it didn't bother him so much today.

Once they were on the road, Spike realized that reviewing the psych evaluation was actually easier while patrolling. With the boss driving and him looking out the window keeping his eyes out for trouble, he didn't have to worry about his expression giving anything away. After a few minutes of silence, Parker tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to turn off his radio as he did the same.

"So, Spike," Parker started as he turned onto Islington Avenue and headed north. "You said you were able to work everything out with your father?" he asked.

"Yeah," the young man smiled as he remembered the conversation.

"So, what was it that changed his mind?" asked the sergeant.

Spike chuckled. "Well, I think it was mostly a combination of my threat to move out and my mother freaking out about me moving out." He decided to leave out the part about his brother Marco.

"I take it your mother wasn't too keen on you leaving?" smiled Greg.

Spike shook his head, "No, she wasn't," he said. "I think she's planning on me being there for a good long while yet."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" asked Spike.

"How long do you figure you'll stay there?" he hazarded a glance at the young man next to him before smiling and shaking his head. "Look, I know it's really none of my business, Spike, so if you don't want to answer that, you certainly don't have to."

"I know," smiled Spike. "I don't know," he continued after a moment. "I guess I never really thought about it until things got so bad between me and my father.

"I mean, my brothers and sister all moved out on their wedding day, so I guess I just figured I'd do the same," he reasoned. Spike glanced at his boss. "Of course, with some of the hours we put in and having to keep up with new technology and everything, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to meet someone."

"Oh, I don't know, Spike," Greg said with a smile, "Bridget seems pretty amazing to me," he offered. "She sure did a great job pulling you back from the edge on Sunday." The smile left his face as he thought back to just how rough the young man had looked when he had shown up at the hospital that night.

"I've never seen you so upset before," said Greg. "You want to talk about it?" asked Greg seriously as they drove through the Woodbridge section of Vaughan.

"Not really," chuckled Spike. He thought for a few minutes. "I guess it was just everything," he said. "The psych eval, Lew, my father," he paused. "I was mad at myself for getting mad at Wordy. I don't know boss," he stared out the front windshield, not really seeing anything. "It just felt like everything was crashing down around me."

He turned to look the sergeant. "I just felt so out of control, you know?" he said. "This whole week has been a roller-coaster, up and down," he said.

"One of the concerns Dr. Toth had about you was the situation between you and your dad," Greg admitted, nodding toward his young officer while he kept his eyes on the road. "He was worried that you didn't have any kind of support system to fall back on and in our line of work, we've got to have someone we can talk to sometimes.

Spike was silent for a few minutes as he considered the psychologist's concerns. As much as he hated Toth for what the man had put him through, he had to admit that the doctor wasn't that far off with his assessment. While he couldn't go to his father with anything work related, he could still talk to his mother. And, he knew his brother Vito would always make time to listen. Still, he didn't like putting his mother in the middle of it and his brother was busy with his own family, so he didn't often talk to either of them about anything that was bothering him. If they noticed something troubling him and asked, he would tell them. But, he wouldn't go looking for them.

He had found himself visiting Lew's grave more and more as the year had passed. He could always talk to Lew there; it had never felt weird to him. For some reason it just made sense to talk. Lew had been his sounding board for so long and he still felt a connection at the cemetary, so in a way, he still had Lew. But, it wasn't the same.

"Toth thought that maybe that's why you haven't gotten over Lew's death yet," Parker said softly, "why you still feel guilty."

Spike smiled, remembering Bridget's remark to him Sunday night, or rather, Monday morning, and he laughed. Turning to look at his boss, he laughed at the confused look he got.

"I was just thinking about something Bridget said after she drove me home Sunday night. She told me that she didn't know anyone who carried it around as much guilt as I do."

"So, she did get you talking?" asked Greg as they both turned to look back out through the windshield. Parker turned right onto Rutherford, past the conservation center on the left and under the 400 to Jane where he turned left.

"Yeah," Spike nodded. "She had heard about Lew and asked what happened. I told her." He paused. "She helped me realize that it wasn't my fault, but I guess on some level, I already knew that.

"You know, I really didn't want to talk about it at the hospital on Sunday," Spike continued. "But, Bridget just seemed to know what to say. Maybe I could talk to her about it because she wasn't close to it like everyone else was," he shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe she's just easy to talk to," he said as he glanced over at Parker before turning back to look back out the window.

They were silent again as they drove past Canada's Wonderland. About a mile or so later, the subdivisions thinned out and they turned east again until they hit Keele Street. Parker then turned south and headed back toward the city.

"So, what else did Dr. Toth say about me?" asked Spike as the passed the university.

Greg looked at him for a second before looking back at the road. "He's concerned about how you'll react the next time we get a bomb call."

Spike nodded, "It's a legitimate concern," he said. "There's really only one way to find out, though," he continued, "and I don't know about you, but I'm in no rush."

After a moment, he went on to say, "But, I think I'll be able to handle it okay, as long as it's not booby-trapped."

The two shared a grim smile before Greg asked his younger partner if he had any questions about the evaluation. When Spike just shook his head, "I think I've thought about way too much already, thank you very much."

Parker just nodded and turned his radio back on. Spike followed suit a split second later.

* * *

**A/N**: That's it. Thanks again! Let me know what you think and if you'd like to see an epilogue tying everything up in a nice, neat bow! _**- Psy**_


	17. Chapter 17  Epilogue

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own it, but at least it's back on CBS!

**Author's Note**: Well, this has taken far too long to finish, but here it is, the long awaited 'epilogue.' I put it quotes because it reads more like a straight chapter than an epilogue, but I hope it works just the same. You'll have to let me know. About the only thing I didn't touch on here is Sam and Jule's relationship, mostly because I'm not sure which way to go with it. Maybe there'll be another story for them somewhere down the line. I'm not sure. I want to thank you all for reading and, once again, special thanks go out to everyone who has reviewed. Your kind words and encouragement kept me going, motivating me to keep on writing. Though I generally write for myself, it's nice to know others appreciate my efforts, so thanks again! **_- Psy_**

* * *

Kevin Wordsworth elbowed the screen door open and carefully stepped sideways through it to the patio. He carried a tray filled with hamburger patties and hot dogs in both hands and gently kicked the screen door closed behind him before crossing the patio to the propane grill. The late summer sun was shining bright and he squinted as his eyes struggled to adjust to the change. Setting the tray of meat down on the small side table he'd placed next to the grill, Wordy checked the temperature settings and made sure he had everything he needed. He had gotten up early that morning, at least it was early for a day off of work, and had given the grill a good cleaning before heading out to the store for a full propane tank. He'd cut the grass and trimmed the edging the day before while Shelley and the girls had pulled weeds from the garden and he smiled now as he surveyed the nearly perfect back yard. Clark Lane was pretending to be a monster and chasing Wordy's three young girls around the yard and the sound of their laughter was music to his ears.

He looked over to the patio to see his wife and friends seated around the comfortably shaded table. Shelley was talking with Clark's mom, Sophie, who held her newborn daughter in her arms. Every now and then Sophie would glance down at the baby and smile. On the other side of her, his arm draped casually across the back of her chair, his hand on her shoulder, was her husband Ed. He, too, would periodically lean down to smile or coo at their baby girl.

Their boss sat next to his best friend, a huge smile plastered to his face as he watched the second-time parents. He was just so happy to have Ed back after he'd been shot. Greg was equally happy that everything had turned out reasonably well for Sophie and the baby, too. It had been touch and go for all three of them for a while and it didn't escape his attention that Ed and Sophie seemed much happier than they had in some time. Greg had been the only one on the team at first to know that Sophie had taken Clark and moved in with her parents during her difficult pregnancy, giving Ed an ultimatum – choose her and the kids or the SRU. And, Greg had been the only one to know just what that had done to his friend and second in command. Now that Ed and Sophie had gotten this second lease on life, it looked as though they had decided to make the most of it and Greg was happy for the two of them.

Seated next to Greg was Team One's acting tactical team leader, Donna Sabine, who was in an animated three-way conversation with Sam and Jules, though Wordy couldn't make out what they were talking about. The three were laughing and shaking their heads in turn. Knowing the three of them, Wordy figured they were probably debating the finer points of tactics.

Everyone was relaxing and enjoying the afternoon. Wordy thought back to the day two months prior when Ed had been shot. That had been a truly horrific day all the way around. As if the tension of having to re-qualify for active duty hadn't been enough, the thought that they might lose Ed and possibly Sophie and the baby as well had been too much. They each had had their own individual dramas to worry about, too, what with Wordy's health issues, Sam and Jules' relationship, and Spike's lingering guilt and family drama.

At the thought of the youngest member of the team, Wordy paused to glance at his watch and wonder where Team One's explosives and technology expert was. He recalled Spike saying something about being late because of a baseball game, but he wasn't sure. As far as he knew, the Jays were out of town today, so he didn't know what baseball game Spike was talking about. _Maybe one of his nephews had a game_, thought Wordy.

With a shake of his head, he turned back to the grill and started placing the hamburgers and hot dogs on the hot surface. When he had fit as many in as he could, he covered the grill so the meat could cook faster. A few minutes later, Shelley joined him, giving him a half-hug before asking if he needed another beer.

"No, thanks, honey, I'm good for now," he replied. "Besides, the cooler's right over there. If I need one, I can get it."

He smiled down at her. "Do you need any help in the kitchen?" He knew she had started a salad and had put a couple of pots on the stove for side dishes. He glanced over at the table again, quickly taking stock of what was left of the vegetable tray, chips and dip.

"You want me to chop up some more veggies?" he asked.

Shelley smiled at him. "And, just who would cook the burgers if you did?" she asked.

Wordy waved the spatula toward the patio. "Well, let's see," he said, "there's Ed, Greg and Sam, not to mention Jules and Donna. Heck, even Clark's capable of flipping burgers and turning hot dogs," he said with a smile.

"Clark is busy entertaining our daughters," Shelley reminded him with a smile of her own. "and in case you hadn't noticed, Ed seems to be stuck like glue to his wife and daughter," she laughed. "So that at least leaves the Lane boys out of it."

Just then, they heard the sound of metal on metal as the latch on the side gate flipped up and the gate swung open. They looked over toward it to see Spike and Bridget enter the back yard. The two were holding hands and Spike carried a case of beer in his other hand while Bridget balanced a covered tray in hers. Spike let go of his girlfriend just long enough to close the gate before taking her hand once again in his. They joined the others on the patio.

"He, Wordy! Let's get this party started!" Spike beamed at his teammates as Sam stood to take the beer from him, putting some in the cooler before grabbing a couple of cold ones for the new arrivals as well as another one for himself.

Spike introduced Bridget to Ed, Sophie and Donna as Bridget placed the tray on the table near the center and took off the cover to reveal a tasty looking arrangement of fresh fruits laid out around three small covered cups. She removed those covers as well and Ed leaned in to take a look. He was practically salivating as he snatched up a plump, juicy looking strawberry and tried to decide which of the three dips he wanted to try.

"Let's see, chocolate, caramel or…what's the other one?" he asked.

Bridget smiled. "That's a Michelangelo Scarlatti super secret special recipe," she replied. "It's really good. I asked him what was in it and he said he could tell me, but then he'd have to kill me." She laughed and looked back at Spike who just grinned and winked at her.

Donna leaned forward, picked up a toothpick and stabbed a chunk of melon before dipping it into the creamy white substance. "It looks like marshmallow cream cheese dip," she said before taking a bite.

"Mmm, or not," she amended. "What is that?" she asked, turning to Spike.

Spike just grinned as the others each took a toothpick and started in on the fruit and dip.

"Oh, that is just heavenly!" gushed Sophie after taking a bite of the white chocolate dipped strawberry Ed held out for her. She closed her eyes and tried to identify what she was tasting. "Let me see, white chocolate and," she said as she tilted her head to one side. Her eyes popped open and she looked over at Spike. "Is that cheesecake?" she asked.

Spike smiled, "Yep! Got it on the first try," he said.

"Well, I would hope so," laughed Ed. "She's only been a caterer for how many years now?"

Jules dipped a chunk of melon into the creamy concoction. "Oh, Spike, that is good. You'll have to give me the recipe," she said.

"Actually, it's my mother's recipe, but I think she got it out of _Canadian Living_ magazine!" laughed Spike.

Shelley turned to her husband. "I guess we don't need any more vegetables right now," she smiled and walked over to the patio where she gave Bridget a welcoming hug and thanked her and Spike for bringing the fruit tray.

Wordy took in the unbuttoned jersey and the baseball pants covered in dirt that Spike was wearing.

"So, you're the one who had a baseball game!" he said, pointing at Spike.

"Yeah, Wordy, I told you I had a game today," his friend grinned.

"I thought you said one of your nephews had a game."

Spike chuckled, "Yeah, well they probably did, too. They've always got something going on, baseball, basketball, soccer, hockey, you name it," he said as he pulled a chair out for Bridget before sitting down himself next to Jules. He took a long draft from his beer and sat back in the chair. It didn't take long for his hand to find Bridget's and they sat holding hands and enjoyed the company of their friends and each other. Between their two schedules, it wasn't often they could spend an entire day together.

"So, did you win?" asked Ed.

'_Typical_,' thought Spike. The tactical expert was all about winning. Spike remembered questioning him once about having to train for a training exercise against one of the other SRU teams. 'We train to win,' was Ed's reply at the time.

"Of course!" smiled Spike. Bridget jumped in with a rundown of the game, highlighting Spike's hits and great defensive plays, making him blush a bit until he had to remind her that baseball was a team game and he hadn't been the only one playing. The others just laughed.

The conversation segued into the Jays and they all talked baseball and sports in general for a while until Wordy announced that the burgers and dogs were ready. After bringing out the side dishes and condiments and making sure their girls were set at their Little Tykes picnic table nearby, he and Shelley joined the others at the big table. Seeing that there weren't enough chairs for everyone, Spike jumped up and motioned for Shelley to take his. Explaining that he had a couple camp chairs in his car, he went and got them. He took one and Bridget came over to sit on his lap, allowing Wordy to sit next to his wife while Clark took the other camp chair.

As soon as he was done with his meal, Ed took the baby from Sophie so she could eat. The rest of Team One couldn't help but smirk as the team's resident tough man started making silly faces at and cooing at his little girl to make her smile and giggle. It was a side of him they'd never seen and they all thought it was great.

Afternoon turned to evening and everyone had been finished eating for a while when Wordy stood and started cleaning up a little. Shelley started to stand as well, but sat back down when he placed a hand on her shoulder, insisting she rest. Shelley wasn't about to argue.

When Bridget got up to get a bottle of water from the cooler, Spike stood up, too, and helped Wordy gather up the serving plates, utensils and condiments that needed to go back into the kitchen. Following his friend into the house, he started putting the things where Wordy pointed.

"So, Wordy," he spoke quietly in case anyone was near the door, "what did the doctor say?" He knew Wordy had seen the doctor again that week, but hadn't had a chance to talk to his friend about it. Spike had noticed the twitching in Wordy's hand while they were in the locker room a few weeks ago. He'd asked about it and Wordy had told him it was one of the reasons he'd snapped at Spike that day during the re-qualifying. He had been worried about not being able to continue working. They had talked about Wordy's symptoms and Spike had gone home that evening and done some research; he'd found that the symptoms suggested Parkinson's disease or something similar, none of which sounded good.

Wordy shrugged as he filled the sink with hot, soapy water. "He said there really wasn't any specific test they could use to screen for some of the things it could be, but he also said it could be something as simple as too much stress coupled with too little sleep and maybe even a vitamin or mineral deficiency," he explained.

"The specialist put me on a vitamin supplement and suggested I eat better and take some time off of work to de-stress," he turned to look at Spike and chuckled. "Like that's going to happen," he smiled slightly.

"So has it helped?" asked Spike.

Wordy cocked his head to the side a bit and thought about it. "Well, Greg's been pretty understanding about everything. He's agreed to take it one day at a time, so some of the pressure's off there and Allie's been feeling better. She's finally sleeping through the night again, so I've been getting more sleep." He looked back at Spike again after shutting off the water. "I haven't noticed the twitch happening as much lately, so, yeah, I'd say it's helped."

Spike smiled and slapped Wordy on the shoulder. "That's great, buddy," he said. "You really had me worried there for a while."

Wordy gave him a half smile, "Yeah, you and me both," he said.

After putting the leftovers away and the pots, pans and dishes into the sink to soak, they rejoined the group outside. Bridget took a beer from the cooler and handed it to Spike as he sat down before sitting on his lap again. Little Allie had climbed up onto Shelley's lap and was struggling to stay awake while her older sisters had gone inside to play.

"So, Ed," asked Jules, "what did the doctors say about you coming back to work?"

Ed Lane glanced over at his wife who looked back at him, uncertainty evident in her expression. She had gotten used to him being home the last two months and she wasn't looking forward to him being gone again. In just a couple of short weeks, Clark would be back in school and she would be alone again for much of the time.

Ed had also enjoyed being home with his family. It hadn't been easy on any of them, what with his somewhat limited mobility and the multiple doctor visits for himself and the baby. Their daughter had been born with heart and lung problems that required visits to the doctor or hospital each week. She had shown marked improvement over the last two months, but they still were worried about her.

Turning back to Jules, Ed answered with a shrug. "I have another stress test later this week and if that goes well, they might clear me for light duty, but I don't know that I'm really ready for field duty yet." He shot a look at Greg.

"I've still got to build my stamina back up, you know?" he said.

"It'll be good to have you back at HQ," Donna smiled. "I think these guys are really missing your charming personality. Somehow, I just can't match it," she chuckled along with the rest of the team.

"Yeah, I'll bet," laughed Ed.

"Hey, at least with Donna we don't have to train for training exercises," Spike offered.

"That may be, Spike," replied Sam, "but we seem to be doing a whole lot more running in full gear these days." He smiled over at their acting tactical leader before turning to Ed.

"I think I'd rather practice full operational exercises than do all that running. I think I've lost ten pounds since Donna took over!"

They all laughed and spent the next several minutes bringing their friend up to speed with the goings on in the SRU. Ed was glad to see that Wordy and Spike had worked out the little spat they'd had during the requalifying drills. At the time, he had chalked it up to the stress of the process and it looked as if he'd been right.

Throughout the conversation, the others shared bemused looks at the way Bridget and Spike couldn't keep their hands off each other. She still sat on his lap, an arm around his shoulders while he had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other draped across her knees. It wasn't anything obvious, just a light touch here or a gentle squeeze there. But, they all recognized the signs of new love and couldn't be happier for the couple. They all thought it was about time Spike got a real girlfriend and they couldn't think of a better match for him than Bridget.

Eventually, the party wound down and the group decided to call it a night. The Lanes were the first to leave, followed by Donna and then Greg. Sam and Jules said their goodbyes next leaving just Spike and Bridget who stayed behind to help finish cleaning up. After they left, Shelley got the girls upstairs and ready for bed while Wordy locked up the house. He joined her upstairs for their nightly ritual of reading to the girls. All three were asleep before too long and Wordy and Shelley tucked them in, kissing each of them lightly on the forehead, before getting ready for bed themselves.

"Today was nice," said Shelley as Kevin turned off the light and got into bed next to her.

He smiled, "Yeah, it was good to see everyone and get a chance to relax and recharge the ol' batteries, you know?" he said as Shelley snuggled up close. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her closer, kissing the top of her head and breathing in her scent. He breathed a contented sigh and thought back over the day. It had been a good day, one of the best they'd had in a long time.

"You know, Shel," he said softly, "I really think we're going to be okay."

She wasn't sure if he was referring to them personally or his team. In the end, she decided it didn't really matter. For the first time in months, Kevin sounded hopeful, and that was enough for her.

* * *

- fin -


End file.
